


The Vetissey

by Virtuella



Series: Vetinari/Angelina Trilogy [2]
Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Jane Austen - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-19
Updated: 2010-10-19
Packaged: 2017-10-12 18:43:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 55,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/127892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Virtuella/pseuds/Virtuella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Through the petty revenge of a jilted opera singer, Lord Vetinari and his new wife find themselves lost at sea. It looks fishy, and Vimes decides to find out the truth. Sequel to A Winter's Tale, set post-MM.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Don't Cross A Sanguini!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks go to Andrew Salt, Finlay and Aramis-chan for advice and encouragement.
> 
> A word of warning: I am taking Vetinari out of his familiar environment here and he will behave somewhat differently from what we usually see. I have given a lot of thought to the psychology, and I think it is sound and in keeping with his personality. However, if you prefer only to see him with his patrician persona, this story is probably not for you.

It is said that whenever a door closes, another one opens. The truth of this must be metaphoric, of course, as can be easily shown by opening all the windows in a house on a windy day and hearing all the doors slam shut simultaneously. Your basic metaphor is harder to disprove. It would appear to be true though, as far as this story is concerned, that quite unexpectedly Lord Havelock Vetinari had opened a door to his heart **1)**  and had let somebody in. Opinions on the nature of that somebody vary, but one thing seems clear beyond doubt: that, once inside, she made herself at home very quickly.

 **1)** **Metaphor again. Duh!**

oOoOo

 

Maria Susanna Sanguini **2)** , better known as Dame Gina Dulci, stood back and admired her mirror image. She believed that modesty should never extend to the point of dishonesty, so she could not help but admire her own impressive appearance. Describing her hair alone would have taken two paragraphs at least, so she was glad that she was under no obligation to do so. Besides, as she would have been the first to admit, she was not all that good with words. Certainly not good enough to do justice to her glimmering tresses.

She didn’t have to be, given that she was so brilliant at just about everything else. Especially at looking and moving like a ... like a ... a duchess, yes. And her singing, of course, but that went without saying. Her tour of the Agatean Empire had been a ... a triumph, yes, and she was still basking in the fuzzy warmth that radiated from the memories of her farewell from Bes Pelargic. The admiring masses had been ... well, admiring her greatly. Yes. Of course, things hadn’t worked out quite according to plan. The Emperor had been a bit of a ... a disappointment, yes, and she didn’t care at all that he hadn’t been impressed by her, because she had been even less impressed by him. He had most definitely not met her ... her standards, yes.

But all that was behind her now. After two years of bringing the gift of her voice to the people in the far-flung corners of the Disc **3)** , she was back in Ankh-Morpork. Back for real, that was, not just for the couple of interludes when the Ankh-Morpork Opera had made her offers that she just couldn’t refuse. Back at last to take what was hers.

She had very pointedly ignored him during her last brief appearance in the city. It was part of her Plan. Only if he was made to feel acutely what it meant to lose her favour, would he be able to see how ridiculous his ... rejection of her had been. Well, by now he would be ready to ask for her forgiveness, and she had every intention, after a bit of hesitation, to graciously grant it. Yes, graciously. And then she would at last gain the position that was due to her.

She pulled her green silk dressing gown close around her waist and reclined on the chaise longue to wait for her toenail polish to dry. Her look wandered idly around the room and fell upon the newspaper that lay folded on the coffee table.

Two seconds later and with no consideration for her nail varnish, she sat bolt upright with the paper in her hands. This was unbelievable! Preposterous! He was acting without any sense, he was throwing himself away, he was...

Glass shattered, water dripped on the floor as Maria Susanna Sanguini chucked the paper at a vase of lilies. This would have made a nice emblem for the very event she was lamenting and only lacked the hysterical spinster diving to catch the flowers. However, Maria Susanna Sanguini was oblivious to such subtleties. She was livid. This appalling course of events could not be put up with, was not to be borne! She would go and...see to it...get her hands on this, this... She picked up the paper again to scan it for the name of the offending person, then she let it sink. She realized that there was nothing she could do to prevent the ... abominable event, because it was happening _right now._

A cry of rage escaped her lips and she tore the paper into shreds, which she threw all over the room in a gesture of extreme vexation. Then she rang for her maid to come and clean up. Her anger congealed into a block of solid fury. Nobody crossed a Sanguini like that!

 

 **2)** **You’d think her parents might have had the decency to give her a more appropriate name like, say, Sav’yanda or, possibly, Raven.**

 **3)** **Not _all_ of the far-flung corners, of course. Only those with good stage management and proper sanitation. 4)**

 **4)** **Ankh-Morpork was special. You didn’t shun Ankh-Morpork for petty reasons like that.**

 

oOoOo

 

The Great Hall of Unseen University was packed with wedding guests of every imaginable shape and size. Sumptuous flower arrangements were dotted about the room, which was buzzing with the sound of several hundred people’s conversations.  Ankh-Morpork’s most professional catering staff weaved their way through the crowd with trays full of little sausages on sticks **5)** , while a contingency of plain-clothes watchpersons mingled conspicuously with the chattering multitude.

On a dais at the far end of the hall two stately chairs were occupied by the newly married couple. Lord Havelock Vetinari wore his usual expression of effortless superiority. Next to him, Angelina Vetinari, nee Winter, had a glazed look on her face. She had spent the last two hours listening to an endless drone of names, while the long, long line of congratulators shuffled past and she tried hard to remember who she ought to bow her head to, whose hand she should shake and whose noble presence required her to stand up. On the few occasions when she was about to get it wrong, his lordship had directed her discreetly with a touch on her elbow. Still, she was beginning to feel the strain. The dress was tight and heavy, her hair uncomfortably piled up on her head, and she was in dire need of a figgin. She turned to her husband.

“I think I need a break,” she whispered.

“Do not despair, the end of the queue is nigh.”

“Who is that man over there again, the one who is staring at me?”

“His Grace, the Duke of Ankh. He is in need of a cigar. Do not let him disturb you.”

They both resumed their polite smiles as the next couple was ushered towards them. After another twenty minutes or so, the monumental task of receiving the good wishes of eight hundred people was finally accomplished. At Vetinari’s signal a manservant in impressive livery sounded a massive gong and the bride and groom proceeded towards the grand buffet, where they were immediately surrounded by the senior wizards of Unseen University.

“Well, Havelock, this is a splendid day for you,” boomed Archchancellor Ridcully while he piled an assortment of venison joints onto his plate. “Your young lady is quite charming, I say!” He winked at Angelina, who was scanning the table for raisin-filled pastry. Vetinari chose a few quail’s eggs and a stuffed tomato and casually added a celery stick to Ridcully’s plate.

The moment Angelina tried to reach out for a terrine of smoked salmon, two wizards appeared to the left and right of her, each making a grab for a dish on the opposite side, their arms crossing in front of her chest. She stepped back.

 “May I recommend these glazed pheasant’s breasts? They are a special recipe of our excellent Mrs Whitlow.” The Senior Wrangler elbowed aside the Lecturer in Recent Runes and the Chair of Indefinite Studies and thrust a platter at Angelina, who narrowly escaped the humiliation of having pieces of roasted fowl falling into her cleavage. As she moved sideways, she bumped into a particularly rotund wizard.

“Oh, I am so sorry, sir!”

The Dean gave her a jovial pat on the shoulder. “Do not worry, I am well cushioned, if I may say so! Well, my dear, I bet you are glad the long wait is over.”

Angelina smiled and made a non-committal nod, since she wasn’t sure about the wizard’s meaning. The engagement had hardly been a long one, so she wondered if he could be referring to her years of spinsterhood. **6)**

“She has a bird on her plate and a bird on her dress, bless her, here comes the bucket of whitewash,” chirped the Bursar happily.

“That is a very astute observation on the hermeneutic dilemma of postmodernism, I am sure, sir,” said Vetinari smoothly and steered Angelina away towards the principal table. There she sat down gratefully and began to nibble at three marinated chicken wings, which had inexplicably found their way onto her plate. Flanked by Vetinari and Lady Meserole on either side and with her parents, siblings and bridesmaids in view, she relaxed for the first time since she had woken up in the morning.

An hour later and after a rambling speech by her father, the respite was over. The tables were cleared away by skilled hands and one was supposed to mingle. Vetinari disappeared in a cluster of people, and Angelina was separated from her bridesmaids Goldy and Tvoolia almost as soon as she set out. Sidling through the throng in search of her sister Cassandra, she picked up fragments of conversation around her.

“...wouldn’t have thought it of Vetinari, but of course he is...”

“...all the way down from Copperhead, and there was no saffron to be found anywhere within thirty miles...”

“...quite used to it, he has been an ape for as long as I can...”

“...think she is quite delightful!”

“She is tolerable, I suppose, but one has to wonder what tempted Havelock to marry her.”

Angelina glanced into the direction of that voice and saw it coming from the mouth of a woman whose name she remembered for some reason: Lady Selachii. Hastily she turned aside.

“Never mind, dear,” said a large woman with a kindly face, who had come up beside her and taken her by the arm. The Duchess of Ankh, Angelina remembered. “You are a sweet girl, and I am very happy for Havelock. It will do him good to have a bit of kindness in his life. He has been frightfully cynical at times. Well, I have not a doubt of your doing very well together. He is so commanding that you will never have to make any decisions; so firm that no servant will dare cheat you; and so rich that you will never be able to exceed your income."

Angelina laughed.

“I hope, Sybil, you are not giving my wife ideas of extravagance,” said Vetinari, noiselessly appearing beside them. “She mustn’t think that she’ll get rings, harps and dresses every day of her life.”

“Oh, as if I would - ”  Her eyes widened. “Did you say _harps_?”

He smiled broadly and held out his hand.

“Come, Lady Vetinari, it is time for the dance of honour.”

He led her to the centre of the room, where an expectant space had opened up among the crowd. At any other moment Angelina would have felt self-conscious to be watched by so many people, but presently she had something else on her mind.

“I thought it came from Henry!” she whispered as the music commenced.

“Shsht!” said Vetinari. He held her lightly and began to move as poised and gracefully as you would expect from a Member of the Institute of Dance and Deportment. His bad leg gave him minimal trouble. With his lithe steps tracing the music, all she had to do was follow and pretend she fitted into this fairy tale role. Angelina Winter, alchemist, former city employee, without beauty, fame or riches. She knew she didn’t deserve him, but she wasn’t going to draw attention to the fact.

Vetinari scanned the room while they danced. He perceived the unfamiliar air of goodwill that was flowing towards him today. Years of devoted service to the city had never earned him more than grudging respect, but suddenly people were willing to like him. People wanted to be near him, people wanted to shake his hand. All on account of the affectionate little woman in his arms. Havelock, Lord Vetinari, Patrician and tyrant, despotic ruler without a heart. He knew he didn’t deserve her, but sure as anything he wasn’t going to admit it.

After the dance, Angelina felt her spirits rise. The glaring eye of the crowd was withdrawn from her now, and an ample group of couples was twirling around the room, her brother Henry with his fiancée Tvoolia the most radiant of them all. She emptied a glass of champagne that had conveniently floated past on a tray. Spotting her mother not far off engaged in conversation with Lady Meserole, she decided to join them, when she saw herself approached by the woman whose face she would not so easily forget.

“Ah, the new Lady Vetinari!” Lady Selachii cooed. “You must find it so thrilling to introduce your family to such an illustrious assembly.”

“I am always happy to introduce my family anywhere,” replied Angelina evenly.

With a voice like honey, Lady Selachii continued: “I hear that your brother – such a dashing young man! – is engaged to marry a Klatchian seamstress?”

Angelina smiled sweetly.

“My brother is engaged to my good friend Tvoolia Hingh, who comes from Istanzia and is a very accomplished dressmaker.”

Casually, she ran her hand along the skirt of her gown. Lady Selachii, though elegantly attired, needed no reminder that she possessed nothing that could match the splendour of the wedding dress.  Each peacock feather shone in the crisp perfection of immaculate stitching, and the silk was softer and smoother than anything Ankh-Morpork had ever seen. Of course, Tvoolia hadn’t done the embroidery, but Angelina didn’t mind Lady Selachii thinking so.

“Oh, do let me see your ring,” said Lady Selachii, changing tack. “I am sure Havelock must have chosen the most exquisite diamond for you – oh, dear me, what is that? A pebble?”

“The stone is a Salsalite, which is so rare that it is probably unknown to you. If you look closely, you will see that it exactly matches the colour and texture of my eyes. I was very touched that ... Havelock was able to find such a perfect match without having the original at hand. Yours, I notice, is a sapphire.”  She kept smiling. Lady Selachii had brown eyes.

“Angelina, do come and tell Brenda about your brother Felix, she is quite smitten with him.” Lady Meserole put her arm around Angelina’s shoulders and led her away in a cloud of lilac scent. “Are you enjoying this little party, my dear?”

“I think I have just been a right nasty besom,” said Angelina with a rueful sigh.

“Good for you,” replied Madam cheerfully.

 **5)** **_Not_ ** **the Dibbler brand.**

 **6)** **What the Dean _was_ really referring to, obviously, was the long wait for the start on the buffet.**

 

oOoOo

 

Night was beginning to ooze into morning. A carriage made its way along Scoone Avenue and turned in at the gate of the Ramkin mansion. It stopped at the front door, which opened immediately, and two figures hurried inside.

 

In the ghastly pink drawing room, Lady Sybil slipped off her shoes and sank into an armchair. Her husband quickly removed as much of his dress uniform as seemed decent, before he likewise reclined on the first available piece of upholstery.

 

“You can stop sulking now, Sam, it is over. You made a very fine Best Man.”

 

Sir Samuel Vimes grunted.

 

“Really, Sam,” Lady Sybil continued, “there is no need to be like that. It was a rather splendid affair, and many people enjoyed it tremendously. You might have been a bit more graceful about it.”

 

“You know how I hate crowds like that. And I don’t like the idea of having Vetinari married. Not to that woman anyway. What does he see in her?”

 

“She seems to like him very much. Don’t you think that makes her rather special?”

 

Vimes kicked off his boots.

 

"He is the Patrician. If he really felt he had to marry, he should have married Rosie Palm. There’s a woman who knows how the city works. Failing that, some Klatchian princess or suchlike would have done the trick. Somebody who knows what it means to be a head of state. Not some little alchemist from out in the stalks, who trembles at the sight of the King of Lancre.”

 

“Do you mean to say that in marriage people should not quit the sphere in which they have been brought up?”

 

Vimes saw where this led and changed tack.

 

“I hate to agree with Rust, but he's right for once. This woman is going to bring Vetinari down. She'll make him go all soft and soppy."

 

"Sam," said Sybil with a gently note of reproach, "is that what you think a wife does to a man?"

 

As Vimes looked at Sybil, his expression changed ever so slightly.

 

"Not you. I could never say that about you, Sybil. But you saw her, with that doe-eyed expression on her face. And Vetinari hovering over her, playing the role of her protective knight. It shows weakness, and there’s bound to be people willing to take advantage of that. It was a humiliating spectacle. I bet he even carried her over the threshold and she clung to him like a limpet."

 

"Oh, Sam, remember that she has been ill. Besides, she was intimidated, because she was out of her depth. I am sure she will adapt. I have spoken to her, and she seems a sensible woman. The whole situation was a bit too much for her, all those people, the formality of the event, clothes she didn't feel comfortable wearing..."

 

"Doesn't sound like anything I haven't had to put up with plenty of times," grumbled Vimes.

 

"Yes, and you usually run away, Sam."

 

oOoOo

 

Gently swaying, the black carriage travelled away from the city towards the seaside. The newly-wed couple inside were enjoying the comfortable silence after the bustle of the previous days. Lord Vetinari leaned back in his seat and looked at his wife. She smiled at him, which for some reason gave him a distinct sense of achievement.

“You know, Angelina, I am really rather pleased. For the price of a stately wedding I get to keep you for life. I consider that a bargain.”

“Do you like me better than Wuffles then?”

“You certainly smell better.”

She laughed.

"I am surprised that you think you can afford to leave the city again."

"For two days, Angelina. I think a man who cannot spare that much time for his wife does not deserve to have one."

 

She didn't reply, but she looked appreciative.

 

“Don’t they say that one wedding brings on another? Who do you think will be next?” he asked.

 

“Tvoolia and Henry, of course, though I’m not sure if they count, since they were engaged already.”

 

“What about your sister then? Does she wish to marry the charming Joaquin?”

 

She shook her head. “I can’t tell you that. It would be breaking the covenant.”

 

Vetinari directed a pointed silence at Angelina. It was one of the few of his little tricks that worked on her.

 

“Cassandra and I have this covenant of discretion, which means that anything we tell each other in a letter remains a secret between us. Well, apart from obvious things like ‘Give my regards to Henry.’ But everything else goes under the covenant. We tell each other so many confidential things, that this way is easier than pointing out each single time what we want to be treated discreetly.”

 

“Admirable. So I shall never know what she thinks of me, unless she tells you personally?”

 

Angelina laughed and leaned against his shoulder.

 

“No, you won’t, you silly man. I’m not telling. Ask her yourself, if you want to know.”

 

“Time for an arbitrary change of subject, I think. So, Lady Vetinari, what is your impression of Ankh-Morpork’s high society? Do you think you’ll take to it like a duck to water, as they say?”

 

“Possibly not. I don’t know.”

 

“Well, you were thrown in at the deep end, no doubt, but I still hold that you are at least partly to blame for that.”

 

Angelina had not had the opportunity to be introduced to the nobility of the Sto Plains prior to the wedding. Shortly after their engagement had been officially announced, she had rushed off to Sto Kerrig, where her sister-in-law had given birth to a premature baby. Vetinari had doubted the necessity for this endeavour and in fact pointed out that Angelina could be of little use. He had offered to dispatch a couple of very experienced nurses, but he knew in his heart that there was no point in interfering with Angelina’s sense of family obligations. So he had resigned himself to the fact that Angelina wasn’t just an aunt, but an Aunt. **7)** When she had returned seven weeks later, assured of her new niece’s safety, she had immediately come down with glandular fever and had overcome the after-effects of this peculiar disease only just in time for some frantic dressmaking sessions.

 

“Oh, I _had_ to see little Melissa. She’s only a newborn once. There will be plenty of time to meet all these posh people. Lord Rust is not very clever, is he? The blonde woman, what was her name again, Lady Venturi I think, she seemed pleasant enough, a bit dull maybe, but one cannot expect everybody to be inspiring. I didn’t like Lady Selachii much, she appeared determined to find fault with me. The Duke of Ankh doesn’t like me at all, I think, but his wife was very kind.”

 

“Yes, I am sure Sybil will be your friend. I am not going to ask what makes you think Vimes disliked you, because it was obvious enough. But let me tell you that he dislikes practically everybody, apart from his own people. It won’t stop him from being fair to you. That’s just his essential Vimesness. Straight and fair to a fault. He has always been infallibly fair to me, and he hates me.”

 

Vetinari grinned deviously.

 

“More than ever now, I would imagine, since I’ve been so cruel as to call him friend.”

 

“You certainly have a way with people, my lord.”

 

“Angelina!” said Vetinari sternly.

 

“I am sorry. Havelock. It’s hard to get used to it.”

 

“I had no difficulties whatsoever in getting used to your name.”

 

“Well, you are Lord Vetinari and I am not.”

 

“And?”

 

“And nothing. That says it all, really, doesn’t it?”

 

“I think I want to kiss you, Lady Vetinari” said the Patrician and did so.

 

7)       **He had eventually just sighed and suggested she should ask a certain Rincewind to sell her his travel trunk. Angelina had suspected that he was making some kind of joke, but she hadn’t been able to work it out.**

 

oOoOo

 

Further back and just out of sight, their carriage was followed by another equipage. On the soft, loamy road, the coachman had no trouble to keep track of the Patrician’s vehicle. A knock from within made him open the little hatch behind him and turn his attention to the passenger.

 

“Are you sure you won’t lose them?” demanded a female voice.

 

“I won’t, madam. For the kind of money you are paying me, trust me, I won’t.”


	2. No Figgins Today, Thank You!

The little seaside town of Limonum lay in the cheerful light of the late summer sun. Fishing vessels were returning with the catch of the day, sails billowing gently in the warm breeze. The long, sweeping jetty stretched out into the ocean like a protective arm. Seagulls failed to provide the customary seaside backdrop of soaring shapes against the deep blue sky, bobbing on the water like apples for dunking instead.

The owner of the Pearl of Ankh had hastily prepared his best room for the unexpected guests, and while his lordship’s personal cook was terrorizing the kitchen staff, the man himself was taking a stroll by the harbour with his wife. They were too busy enjoying deep breaths of fresh sea air to be talking much. When they reached the point where the sands began, they stopped and stood quietly side by side.

“We played a strange game that time I came out here with Henry, Goldy and Tvoolia,” said Angelina. She sheltered her eyes against the sun with her hand as she looked out over the beach.

“Do not hesitate to tell me more.”

“Oh, Henry ordered us to find treasure, and then Tvoolia made us think whether the items we picked up stood for the desires of our lives. It seemed to work out, oddly enough: Tvoolia had a cockle shell for love, Goldy a coin for wealth and Henry a stick for social status.”

“No doubt you had a glass bottle to represent an unlimited budget for test tubes.”

Angelina laughed briefly and shook her head.

“I told them that all I wanted in life was just to be myself.”

There was no reply from Vetinari, just attentive silence.

“It wasn’t the truth, though,” she continued eventually.

“It wasn’t?”

“No, because I had chosen a piece of egg shell. I was surprised that none of the others understood the clue.”

Vetinari said nothing. Angelina turned towards him with a pleading look in her eyes, and for the first time ever, he didn’t meet her gaze, but scanned the horizon instead . After a while, he put his hand on her shoulder and said softly:

“I do not think that would be a very good idea, Angelina. It would lead to more complications than you can imagine.”

She turned aside, her shoulders sagging, and briskly walked away towards the jetty. Vetinari caught up with her when she reached a cluster of sailing boats that were being moored for the night. The sailors, wiry and weather-beaten, were calling to each other in short phrases that were cryptic to any outsider. Angelina slowed her pace and watched them as wood creaked, canvas rustled and coils of rope passed from hand to hand.

“Would you enjoy a little marine excursion?” asked Vetinari.

She hesitated. It was a meagre compensation, a booby prize even, but when she looked at it as a peace offering, she could not really refuse. Besides, she _had_ actually been wishing for a boat trip.

“Yes, that would be delightful,” she said quietly.

While Vetinari negotiated with the owner of a sleek green sailboat, Angelina let her gaze wander along the jetty, then fixed it at the point where the stone wall ended. She recalled the sounds and smells of the cheerful day with her friends and her brother. It had been a similarly sunny day, and her heart had been filled with poetry. Was her lot any better now, with her true wish denied? What was the point of a grandiose husband, if he squashed her hopes without batting an eyelid? She wanted to run along the jetty, run along the beach, just get away from him. Just as her feet began to move, she felt Vetinari drawing her arm into his and steering her back towards the Inn.

“No running away, Lady Vetinari! I dare say we shall have a charming trip tomorrow.”

She made no reply, but allowed herself to be led along.

“And yet you are displeased. What am I to do, Angelina?”

Another memory crept into her mind, of a dim afternoon in the university library, of poetry books, of verses that spoke of dark shores and futile love. Could she honestly say that the true wish of her heart had not been granted? She touched the watch that hang from a chain around her neck, then she looked up at him and smiled.

“I’m sure it will be delightful. But I am so hungry. It’s still an hour till dinner time. Do you think we could find a bakery somewhere?”

His lordship grinned. “I shall get you a figgin, Angelina, even if I have to use diplomatic ploys.”

oOoOo

When the couple had disappeared around a corner, the door of The Blue Lias Inn opened and a tall female figure stepped out. She wore an ankle-length grey cloak and a wide-brimmed hat. Without hesitation she approached the green sailboat and addressed the skipper. After some debate, a bag of assorted currency changed hands **1)** and the sailor began hurriedly conferring with his mate. The lady, having fulfilled her quest, summoned her coach and departed hubwards.

 **1) The sailor didn’t know what a Rhinu was, but he knew solid gold when he saw it.**

oOoOo

The staff dinner at Unseen University was an even more splendid affair than usual. The wizards had reasoned that since the wedding buffet had been prepared and served on university premises, there was no point in removing the leftovers to a different location. The half-emptied platters of stuffed artichokes, ginger-glazed lobster, filo seafood parcels and what-have-you **2)** served as convenient side dishes to the wizards’ regular fare. Sadly, there was nothing left of the wedding cake. Mrs Winter had insisted that every guest was presented with a piece of cake wrapped in tissue paper to take home. Even though the cake had been of almost Johnsonian proportions, eight-hundred guests had carried away every last bit of it.

“Well, well.” Archchancellor Ridcully applied a generous helping of wow-wow sauce to his smoked trout rissoles. “So that’s old Vetinari married now. Who’d have thought it! He seemed set to be a life-long bachelor.”

“I would have thought that would be the sensible choice for a man in his position,” remarked Ponder Stibbons. He had never quite seen the point in girls. That is, he saw the point in a general way, as a means of supplying the next generation of wizards, but he had never understood why otherwise reasonable - well, _kind of_ reasonable - men would get so animated in the presence of women. Whenever he recalled the odd behaviours of some of his senior colleagues during their adventures on Mono Island and Fourecks, he shuddered.

“It is human nature to seek a soul mate,” said the Bursar in a rare moment of sanity. The other wizards stared at him.

“Well, yes,” said the Lecturer in Recent Runes and surreptitiously scanned the table for the dried frog pills. “But what’s a soul mate, when you look closely? Just somebody to quarrel with about the bills, in most cases.”

The Senior Wrangler slowly shook his head. “The good housekeeper, the excellent cook - that kind of woman would warm any man’s heart...”

“Ah, a woman, who knows her own mind and is swift on her feet,” said Ridcully, a dreamy expression creeping into his face. “What do you say, Dean?” He nudged the Dean with his elbow.

“Pardon?” The Dean had been paying no attention to the conversation, busy as he was with polishing off the rest of the champagne-apricot mousse. On being addressed by Ridcully, he tried to swallow hastily, choked and coughed an unexpected hard object onto his plate. He regarded it with scorn, but suddenly he whistled through his teeth.

“Now, look at this!”

The other wizards craned their necks. The Dean inspected the object closely, then he handed it round for scrutiny by his colleagues.

It was an apricot stone. Unlike the common stone, it had a smooth, shiny surface, and on it fine silvery lines formed a tiny picture.

“Looks like a boat,” said Ridcully, holding it up to catch the light. The lines indeed formed an image of a miniscule sailing vessel, and with a bit of imagination one could make out two infinitesimal figures at one end. “I wonder what that’s supposed to mean?”

“Somebody’s going on a sailing trip. Well, as long as it’s not me,” said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. “I’ve had enough for a life-time.”

The other wizards nodded in agreement. Life on board a ship, any ship, never held the appropriate number and size of meals.

 **2) What-have-you is a very popular dish in some parts of the Sto Plains.**

oOoOo

The next morning arrived with a brisk wind and dazzling sunlight. Limonum was busy with the day’s trade long before the guests at the Inn arose. Breakfast for the Patrician **3)** had been served in a small private room adjacent to the main dining hall. Near a window overlooking the sea the table was set with fine china, silver cutlery and a well-meant, but pathetic looking bouquet of mildewed Michelmas daisies. The Vetinaris attended to their meal, she with a hearty appetite, he with intricate movements and a minimum of actual consumption.

“You haven’t touched the figgins,” observed Vetinari.

A sudden suspicion arose in Angelina. She had heard of Nimphium and vaguely remembered that it had been so widely used by the ancient Curavians, that it had become extinct. **4)** There were probably other herbs with similar propensities. Was it possible...?

She gave him a shifty look and tried to gauge the possibility of him having drugged her figgins with a contraceptive. It wouldn’t be like him, or would it? Maybe not. Still, he deserved a spot of teasing.

“I’m not in the mood for sweet things,” she replied. “The scrambled eggs were rather good, but I have a strange craving for something more ... salty. Do you think they’d bring me a kipper?”

With both eyebrows nearly touching his hairline, Vetinari let his knife and fork sink. Angelina prepared to savour his perplexity, but she couldn’t keep a straight face. He saw the twitching at the corners of her mouth immediately and gave her a reproachful look.

“That was rather tasteless, Angelina!”

“Oh, let me have a little joke. At least in that you could indulge me.”

“I expect you to show some decorum.”

“On our honeymoon? You are a cruel master. Very well, I shall be serious and serene.”

“You are still smirking. Exercise some restraint. Have you considered that I am an elderly man and you might have given me a heart attack?”

She giggled.

“Elderly indeed. Now you’ve overdone it. I can see you grinning inwardly.”

With a brisk flick of the wrist, Vetinari halved an orange. **5)**

“I’m afraid I shall have to dispose of you, Angelina. You know me too well.”

The arrival of a waiter put an end to their banter. They declined the offer of more coffee and instead went back to their room to dress for the outdoors. Considering the warm weather, Vetinari initially confined himself to shirt and breeches, but at the last minute changed his mind and slipped into his robe. Angelina wore one of her usual navy dresses and a head scarf in view of the wind. Thus attired, they made their way along to the harbour.

 **3) The wife, from the landlord’s point of view, was a mere appendix to the great man.**

 **4) As had, ironically, the Curavians.**

 **5) If anybody thinks that the knives in the Inn couldn’t have been quite that sharp, they are quite sharp themselves.**

Half an hour later they looked back at the gradually shrinking prospect of Limonum and ahead at a glittering, rippling sea. They were comfortably seated at the prow enjoying the salty breeze, while the two sailors did inexplicable things with the rigging. Angelina recited marine poetry to Vetinari, which might have been a subtle form of revenge. In any case, his lordship looked increasingly uneasy. After a while, he addressed the skipper:

“Why do we have a rowing boat in tow?”

“That’s the life boat, sir. In case this one sinks. Health and safety regulations these days.”

“Do you expect this vessel to sink?”

“Wouldn’t say so, sir, but you never know, do you?”

“I beg to differ. I generally know very well, as far as my vocation is concerned. I would have assumed the same for you.”

“Whatever you say, sir.” The sailor shrugged his shoulders.

Vetinari returned his attention to Angelina, who had run out of verses she knew by heart and had settled for humming under her breath. She stopped as soon as she saw her husband’s gaze and smiled self-consciously. From the corner of her eye, she noticed a movement out on the ocean and looked round.

“Dolphins! Look, I think there are dolphins out there!”

“Nay, ma’am,” replied the skipper, “I wouldn’t think so. No dolphins in these waters. Flying fish you’ve seen, most likely, or even one of our famous sea monsters.”

Angelina wasn’t so sure, but she felt no inclination to argue. She leaned back against Vetinari’s shoulder, closed her eyes and let her mind drift. The boat trip was refreshing and pleasant, and she was grateful that Havelock – still so odd to address him like that! – had freed up this time to be with her. She understood it was a gift, a more precious wedding present even than the beautifully bound and very rare edition of Bocciani’s _Fragmenti._ Was she happy? Probably. The previous night she had shed some tears, when she had been sure that he was asleep. By the light of day, she felt she could not reproach him. He was right, as usual, and she had to be prudent. She should be counting her blessings. The fresh air was certainly one of them, and one she was likely to think of with longing once they’d be back in the city.

She woke up with a shiver and raised her head. It was cooler and the sky had clouded over. The boat was travelling at a brisk speed on a much rougher sea and the shore was nothing but a pale bluish line in the distance.

“How long have I been asleep?”

“About an hour,” said Vetinari. “I would appreciate it if you could shift your weight off my arm now.”

“Of course, I’m sorry, you should have said!” She sat up quickly.

“Oh, I wouldn’t have woken you. I like to watch you sleep. It gives me such a pleasant feeling of being unchallenged.”

“Now, that I don’t believe. You thrive on opposition. Isn’t it true that you only fell for me because I was a novel type of challenge for you? And you don’t need to answer that. Anyway, I’m hungry. Where’s the picnic hamper?”

Vetinari pulled the basket out from under the seat and opened the lid to inspect the contents.

“Impressive. I believe there’s more than even you could eat.”

“There’s no need to be like that, just because I have a normal appetite.”

They were interrupted by the sudden shouts of the two sailors from the stern of the boat. The men pointed ahead excitedly.

“Whales!” they exclaimed. “Look at them, great big whales, right behind you!” **6)**

Vetinari and Angelina turned and looked in the indicated direction. As they screwed up their eyes, they had a brief discussion about the length of time whales can remain submerged and what tell-tale signs might show where they were likely to resurface. With the waves rolling and shadows of scattered clouds drifting over the sea, it was hard to make out anything. Still, it would have been safe to say that great big whales were conspicuously absent.

Or _suspiciously_ , as a more perceptive observer might have put it. Vetinari spun around. Angelina followed his movement and stared. The two sailors where nowhere to be seen. Ducking under the spars, they made their way to the stern of the heaving sloop as best they could. The rope that had held the life boat had been cut. Rowing towards the shore with all their might were the two sailors, already some forty yards away.

“What are they doing?” cried Angelina. “What’s going on, are they scared of the whales?”

“There were no whales. What are _you_ doing?”

Angelina had already slipped out off her dress and was standing by the gunwale in her chemise, shivering in the wind. She tugged at Vetinari’s sleeve.

“Quick, get your robe off, it’ll be too heavy in the water!”

“We cannot jump into the sea, that would be very irrational.”

“It’s irrational to let them get away! We can’t sail this boat. Come on, come on quickly, we’ll make it!”

The distance between their vessel and the rowing boat was increasing rapidly. Angelina desperately pulled at Vetinari’s robe, but he caught her wrists and held her hands down.

“Angelina, I cannot swim! Do not look at me like that. I grew up in Ankh-Morpork, what do you expect?”

“Why can you not swim! They are getting away! What are we to do? Look, we’ve left it too long, they’re too far away now, we’ll never catch them!”

She sat down on the deck and burst into tears.

 **6) One of the sailors had recently taken his children to a Punch & Judy show, and like most people, these men took their inspiration wherever they could find it.**


	3. Water, Water Everywhere

**Lost At Sea!**

 

 **Patrician Lord Vetinari and his wife are missing in the Circle Sea  since they encountered a storm during a sailing trip off the coast of Limonum yesterday afternoon.**

 **Reports of the disaster first spread in the picturesque seaside resort in the early evening, when two seamen reached the harbour in a rowing boat. Johnny Silver (42) and Robert Shafto (37) collapsed with exhaustion and were taken to the Blue Lias Inn for resuscitation, where they later related their catastrophic experience.**

 **Silver, owner of the sloop _Heavenly Mary_ , and his First Mate Shafto had taken the Vetinaris on a pleasure trip, when the party unexpectedly met with adverse weather conditions and the ship suffered structural damage. While Silver and Shafto took to the life boat, Lord Vetinari and his wife refused to abandon the stricken sailing vessel.  **

**“We tried to talk them round, but they were just too flippin’ scared of the little rowing boat. The lady held on to her husband and screamed and screamed,” reported Shafto.**

 **“We did what we could to persuade them, but in the end we had to save our own lives,” added Silver. “Still, I hope they’ll be lucky and get washed up on the shore before too long.”**

 **The Vetinaris, who were only married last Octeday (The Times reported), had travelled to Limonum for a surprise honeymoon. According to the owner of the Pearl of Ankh, they had intended to spend two days in the charming coastal town. The news of their accident is causing grave concern in Ankh-Morpork.**

 **Meanwhile, search parties have set out after the storm subsided, scanning those coastal waters where, according to Silver and Shafto, the boat will most likely be found drifting.**

 

 

 

 

In her sumptuously furnished apartment, Maria Susanna Sanguini read the newspaper with great satisfaction. Her slender arm rested on the back of the chaise longue and her violet eyes sparkled with glee. The report had pushed “Dulci to star in Lohenshark” onto the second page, but she did not resent that in the slightest. This was her hour of ... of triumph, yes. Nobody crossed a Sanguini like that! Out at sea, he would have ample opportunity to regret his abominable ... actions.

Then the flaw of her plan struck her. She had very explicitly instructed the sailor to make it look like an accident. Naturally, she had no intention to face any ... inconvenience. But now she realized that if it looked like an accident, then Havelock would _think_ it was an accident and he would never know that this was her revenge. She let out a scream of rage.

Later, the maid mused that Madam Dulci was going through rather a lot of vases these days.

 

oOoOo

Out on the Circle Sea, the _Heavenly Mary_ drifted in the current. After he had recovered from the moment of surprise, Vetinari had grasped the tiller, only to find it stuck in place. When he had yanked it hard, it had broken off. He had attempted to manoeuvre by adjusting the sails, but had been defeated by his complete ignorance of all things nautical. Angelina had hovered about him, trying to muster some composure, when by the sudden whirling round of something or other among the sails, she would have been dashed into the sea, if he had not, with the greatest presence of mind, caught hold of her arm. Shortly after that, the wind had picked up and the boat had rocked so alarmingly that all they had been able to do was to hold on as best they could. They had spent most of the night lying low, hoping for the storm to subside.

However, at dawn the wind had died down and now the boat was drifting along on a calmer sea. The rising sun had seen Angelina raiding the picnic hamper and forcing cucumber sandwiches **1)** into Vetinari’s hands. Ever since then, she had been following him about the boat while he inspected, prodded, shoved and pulled. His actions had seemed purposeful to begin with, but as the morning progressed, it became evident that he was getting nowhere. At about the same time as Dame Gina Dulci was kicking over her coffee table, he ceased his activity and sat down beside Angelina.

“I cannot work out how to turn the boat. Even with the tiller broken, it should be possible to tilt the sails in a certain way – but alas, nautical studies were not on the syllabus at my school. It also looks as if certain crucial parts have been removed. I _saw_ them do it, but I didn’t understand the significance. How very vexing.”

“You are exhausted.” Angelina pulled him towards her and made him rest his head on her lap. He didn’t resist, which was a sure sign that he was at the end of his wits, and that worried her. It was so unlike him not to be in control of every possible situation. There was little else she could do other than to try and lighten the mood. Absentmindedly she stroked his hair while looking out over the all-encompassing sea.

“Why is it that every time I’m in a boat with an otherwise capable man, he doesn’t know how to steer it?”

“There have been precedents?”

“Well, I was out in a rowing boat with Henry once, the last time I was in Limonum. He kept going round in circles and then he almost lost the oars. I think he was trying to impress Tvoolia, but he only succeeded in making us all laugh. Fortunately Goldy saved the day.”

“Hmm. Trust your brother. Well, it would appear that the Assassin’s Guild’s curriculum is indeed to blame. I am sorry to have lost your trust about such a mundane matter.”

“What do you mean?” She looked down at him, but he had his eyes closed.

“Well, that’s what you said: That you trusted me, because I had never let you down.”

The expression on her face was half puzzled, half amused.

“When was that?”

“On the twenty-second of May, I think, last year. When you told me that you were unable to perceive other people’s guile.”

“Good grief, do you remember every word I ever said to you?”

“Don’t you?” He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I _have_ let you down. I was unforgivably overconfident in assuming that nobody would try to get rid of me because of all my ... little arrangements. Evidently, somebody thought they’d take their chances.”

“Are you sure? Maybe it was just a misunderstanding ...”

“Angelina, even you cannot be that naïve! These sailors abandoned us in the middle of the ocean and they somehow sabotaged the boat. Doesn’t that imply to you that somebody paid them more than I did?”

“If you put it like that ...”

“And yet,” he continued, “it doesn’t make sense. It can’t have been a premeditated plot, because nobody knew we were coming here. The boat trip was a spontaneous idea. Conspirators don’t usually act on the spur of a moment. Besides, why would they involve you in it? Who would gain from your death? Somebody wants to kill you as much as they want to kill me. This isn’t political, Angelina, this is personal.”

She sagged, downcast by the realization of so much wickedness. Then she sat up straight again and said:

“Surely they’ll send a rescue party?”

“I wouldn’t depend on it.”

“But you are the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork!”

“Indeed. Has it occurred to you that this might be a very good reason _not_ to send a rescue party?”

“Oh.” She was silent for some time.

“But what about Commander Vimes?”

“Unless Vimes wants to arrest the storm for treason, I can’t see him getting involved. How would he know there’s a crime involved? Whoever staged this will make sure it looks like an accident.”

Angelina tilted her head back and rested it against the hull. She felt the sunshine on her skin and drew in the salty air. Interesting, how one’s perception of things depended on one’s situation. The previous day, she had been enjoying these things. Now she reflected how quickly her married situation had taken a turn for the worse. Only a few days ago she had bidden her parents farewell, confident in the life of joy and contentment that lay ahead of her. They had left her with fond embraces, reassured of her happiness. Would the news have reached them yet that their precious daughter was lost at sea? After a while she said quietly:

“I believe _my people_ will look for us.”

“Let’s hope they will,” replied his lordship.

 **1) Angelina would have preferred ham and tomato, but the landlord had packed cucumber sandwiches, as these are perceived to be genteel throughout the multiverse.**

oOoOo

 **Dear Mama, Papa, Conrad and Karia!**

 **No doubt you will be alarmed about the news reports that suggest Lina and Havelock have drowned in the Circle Sea. Worry not! These newspaper people always exaggerate terribly. I came down to Limonum as soon as the rumour spread in Ankh-Morpork and spoke briefly to the two sailors. They had to abandon ship, because the tiller had broken and they could no longer steer the boat. However, because it was otherwise sea-worthy, there is no reason to assume that it sank. They are expected to be drifting in the coastal waters in a local widdershins current, and there are now fifteen search parties out, who are bound to find them, if they haven’t come ashore somewhere already. I have also arranged for some horsemen to check out all the beaches in that direction. I’ll be returning to the city tonight, because I have business to attend to and there’s nothing else I can do here at this time. There is no call for Mama and Papa to end their visit and abandon their latest grandchild. Just you stay where you are and be assured that Lina and Havelock will soon be home safely. You can tell that the newspaper people haven’t got a clue what they are saying, because obviously Lina wouldn’t just stand and scream in an emergency. She must have had a sensible reason for staying on board, but trust those journalists to get it wrong!**

 **Love**

 **Henry**

oOoOo

In the Rats Chamber, the assembled guild leaders and nobles had seemed only mildly taken aback when Sir Samuel Vimes had made his appearance. It had taken him less than five seconds to realize that they had been making plans for his city without asking him. It was no less than what he had expected, but he had told them in no uncertain terms that he was a force to be reckoned with. This had met with indulgent smiles, but a complete lack of agreement.

“We are making arrangements to replace Vetinari, Vimes. Your advice will not be required,” said Lord Rust.

Vimes took a deep puff on his cigar. He struggled to keep control of the fist that wanted to connect with Rust’s chin.

“I think Lord Vetinari has made it quite clear on a prior occasion who he wanted to replace him in his absence.”

Lord Rust smiled with the corners of his mouth only, while his pale blue eyes remained as cold and indifferent as the ocean.

“Vimes, Vetinari is dead. I knew that woman would be the undoing of him, the fool.”

“You can hardly blame Lady Vetinari for the weather – Rust,” replied Vimes. “And you will not declare people dead unless there is some evidence that they are. It’s against the law, you know.”

“Don’t make a fool of yourself, Vimes,” interjected Downey. “The boat has not come ashore. What other evidence do you need? There was a storm that night and another one yesterday and no doubt they are now resting at the bottom of the sea. We are all very saddened to lose Havelock, but the city needs leadership. Ronald will be Acting Patrician until we have the succession sorted properly.”

“Damn he will! If anybody is going to be Acting Patrician, I will be the one! I am the Duke of Ankh and I have _experience_ in the post. Do you want to argue with that?”

Lord Selachii gave a dry and humourless laugh.

“Commander Vimes,” he said, “it may have pleased Havelock to promote you to positions of his choice and bestow a meaningless title on you, but you must realize that this is irrelevant in...”

“Meaningless, is it? We can talk about meaningless...” said Vimes and reached out to touch the handle of the axe that was buried in the table. It was a military title after all.

“Don’t be stupid, Vimes,” began Downey, but he was cut short by Lord Rust.

“Yes, meaningless. Only a King can make a Duke. We humoured Havelock while he was around, but now there is really no reason for us to acknowledge your so-called title. You’re out of the picture, Vimes. Get on with policing. Or do you want to throw down your badge again, since you so enjoy dramatic gestures?”

Vimes looked around at the assembled dignitaries. Some pretended to be very interested in the printed agenda. Some had the decency to look uncomfortable. Rosie Palm gave him a helpless little smile and shrugged her shoulders. He ground his teeth. _Only a King can make a Duke._ They had him there. He had the card, but he could not play it. There was no way he would get the captain involved in this game.

Very slowly, he walked up to Rust. He put his hands on the table and lowered his head until it was level with Rust’s face. Their noses were almost touching. Rust couldn’t stand the stare for long and leaned back. This was the only victory Vimes was going to gain in this situation, and he knew it. He stood up straight again and gave Rust what he hoped was the most sarcastic salute in the history of Ankh-Morpork. Then he turned and walked out the door.

 

oOoOo

 

On the second day the Vetinaris had taken stock of the boat’s contents. There wasn’t much, apart from a few crates and coils of rope. When they had set out from Limonum, they had noticed that the fishing apparel had been removed from the vessel, and they had assumed that this had been done for their convenience. In their changed circumstances even Angelina had seen the more sinister explanation: The sailors had made sure that they wouldn’t find anything useful.

The picnic basket had at that point still contained a number of highly perishable foods **2)** ,which they had felt obliged to eat immediately, leaving only a couple of apples and a bottle of wine as further provisions. On the third day they had been hit by another, fiercer storm, which had left them clinging to the rigging. The very moment when it had occurred to them that taking down the mainsail would be a really good idea, a particularly violent gust of wind had broken off the mast. With a short explosion of snapping ropes it had plunged into the sea, narrowly missing Vetinari. If nothing else, this had made the boat rock somewhat less until the storm had died down. The ensuing downpour had soaked them to the bone **3)** , but had also conveniently filled the empty picnic dishes with fresh water.

The morning of the fourth day had dawned over a smooth sea. An innocent looking blue sky denied the tumult of the previous day. They had eaten the apples with a feeling of inevitability and had since been sitting in silence, each pursuing their own gloomy train of thought.

Angelina looked down into the water over the side of the boat.

“We are moving so fast. The current seems very strong here.”

“About as strong as it gets, I would say. Five or six miles an hour, maybe,” replied Vetinari.

“And do you know what direction are we heading?”

“Rimwards.”

“Oh.”

“But we are nearly five thousand miles from the rim, so I wouldn’t worry about it. We are bound to wash up on an island.”

At the mention of islands, Angelina perked up visibly.

“I was never very good at geography. What islands are there?”

“There is a long chain of Islands rimwards of Chimeria. They are uninhabited, I believe, probably with good reason, so though they are closest, it might not be our best luck to land there. Beyond that, it will depend on the direction we’re going. Turnwise there are the Brown Islands, Widdershins there is Krull. If we hit the circumfence, we are likely to end up in Krull anyway. However...”

He looked around. There was, of course, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink.

“Yes?”

“We are unlikely to survive for that long without food or water. We will have to think of a way to catch fish, and we must hope for more rain.”

“How long do you think it could take to come across an island?”

“We should brace ourselves for several weeks at sea.”

Angelina’s face fell. Vetinari turned towards her and stroked her cheek.

“But right now, my precious wife, we shall forget about all this and drink that bottle of wine together.”

“Why?”

“Because it is my birthday.” **4)**

 

 **2)** **Another universal stereotype is that foods for the upper classes should contain a large amounts of eggs and cream.**

 **3)** **_Not_ ** **a metaphor, but hyperbolic speech is just as bad.**

 **4)** **Catch fish – my precious – it’s my birthday. Do I have to spell it out for you?**


	4. Here comes the rain

Elating though it may be at the first glimpse, the exclusive sight of the sea gets decidedly boring after a few days. After a week or so, the mind begins to crave prospects of mountain gorges, or rolling meadows shaded with trees. Angelina sat at the prow of the boat and stared morosely at the uniform expanse of glittering blue waves. It was flat, flat, flat all the way to the horizon, with nothing to hold the eye and nowhere to run to. Not that she wished to run from her husband at this precise moment in time, but she liked to keep her options open. There were no options here. There was also no work, no entertainment and no fresh laundry. Even worse, there was no water apart from what they had caught in their picnic dishes from a shower two days ago, and no food at all. Attempts at catching fish with the empty picnic basket attached to a rope had proved spectacularly futile.

After she had scanned the horizon yet again in search for a shoreline, she hit the hull of the boat with her fist. Vetinari, who had been busy scratching marks into the planks with the corkscrew, looked up.

“You appear to be losing your temper,” he remarked calmly.

“I am sick of the sea. Utterly, utterly sick of it.”

He indulged in a little private smile.

 “So you find it not as poetic as you always thought it was?” he asked.

“The poems are all written from the perspective of the shore ...”

“True enough. Still, if I were you, I would take advantage of the current opportunity and watch it with rapture as much as you can. I have a distinct feeling that if we ever do get back to Ankh-Morpork, we will not be likely to visit the seaside again in a hurry.”

“It’s difficult to feel rapture on an empty stomach. What are you doing there?”

“Fumbled attempts at navigation. It’s no use, though. I have no starting point, no map, nothing to go by. We are still heading towards the rim and at a steady speed, but that’s all I can tell. It’s about time one of your brothers came to our rescue. Which of them is the most likely to be on the look-out for us?”

“Probably Henry.”

“You know, I was afraid you would say that.”

He came over and sat down beside her. It had clouded over and a fresher wind was blowing. This was a mixed blessing. Any relief from the sun was most welcome, but they were both apprehensive about the prospect of another storm. As Vetinari settled himself on the deck, it began to rain. Without a word they positioned the picnic dishes, moving as if they had four hands belonging to just one person. Then they huddled under the bench at the prow, trying to keep as dry as possible. It began to rain harder. Noticeably so.

“Ouch!”

Angelina pulled up her leg and rubbed her ankle.

“What was that?”

“Some sort of metal tube. There’s another. Try and keep out of the way.”

They curled up even closer and protected themselves as best they could from the shower of metal objects. Nevertheless, they were hit rather painfully several times. One of the ceramic bowls shattered. After a minute or so, it was over and a downpour of ordinary water filled their remaining dishes and drenched their clothes. Vetinari picked up one of the metal tubes. It was a tin can. The inscription on the paper label attached to one side, supported by a helpful illustration **1)** , declared root vegetables as the content. Angelina snatched the tin out of Vetinari’s hand.

“It’s carrots! It’s something to eat!

She jumped up, oblivious to the rain, and began to collect the tins from all over the boat. There were about sixty of them, all of the same kind. She regarded them like a hoard of treasure, counting them, caressing them even, and piling them up in a little pyramid.

“How are we going to open them, though?”

“I think this will be of service,” said Vetinari.

Angelina jumped when he pulled out the dagger.

“What are you carrying that for?”

“My dearest Angelina, I _am_ an assassin.”

“But you’re out at sea in a boat with nobody but me,” she protested.

“One never knows.”

She stared at him in horror. He laughed.

“Not what you think. One never knows, for example, when a rain of tinned carrots might come along.”

“Put it away. It is awful!”

“Don’t be nonsensical. I will employ it to open the tin, and I will not offend your delicate soul by referring to any other uses it might have. Nevertheless, I am surprised to find you quite so thin-skinned.  How do you think your brother earns his living?”

“That is not something I ever dwell on much.”

“Aha, so you just ignore the unpalatable truth?

Angelina turned her head this way and that and scanned the ocean in painful awareness of the complete impossibility of running away. She clenched her fists. Meanwhile, Vetinari had opened the tin and offered it to her. The food was a welcome distraction. He cut the lid off another tin and they ate in silence. They were hungry enough to find cold, mushy carrots quite delicious, but they restrained their impulse to have another tin. There was no telling how long these heavenly provisions would have to last.

 “I would hazard a guess,” said Vetinari, “that we are not far off the coast of Chimeria.” He looked at the label on one of the tins. “Ah, yes, indeed. Product of Chimeria. They have a thriving vegetable conserve industry **2)** , but apparently rather delicate storage buildings and they are plagued by freak storms more often than any other country on the Rim Ocean. Maybe we’ll come ashore there soon. In any case, I think we are saved for the time being.”

 

 **1)** **Of course, the words “Serving suggestion” were printed underneath the picture, lest anybody should assume that a sprig of parsley was included in the tin.**

 **2)** **Actually, given the extent to which they lost their stock to freak storms, it would be more accurate to say that the neighbouring countries had the thriving vegetable conserve industry - without having to bother with growing and tinning any vegetables.**

 

oOoOo

 

Back in Ankh-Morpork, Mr Snaigilla addressed the members of the Guild of Rubber Manufacturers with a smug grin of satisfaction.

“And now, gentlemen, we come to item three on the agenda: Sourcing of raw rubber. Lord Rust has agreed that the restrictions Lord Vetinari imposed on us were unreasonable. I’ve already sent a bird to Hersheba yesterday, and I suggest you all do the same. If there are no further orders for Be Trobian rubber, Captain Wentworth will set sail to Hersheba tomorrow.”

The assembled rubber manufacturers expressed eager **3)** agreement, and thus it was that the following morning a ship that would have sailed to be Trobi left for Hersheba instead.

 **3)** **Or not quite so eager in the case of Mr Graves, who actually possessed some kind of conscience and had been forced to admit to himself that the Hershebean rubber might indeed have been the cause of the rubber pest. Inconvenienced as he was by this, he nevertheless felt obliged to go along with the guild’s decision.**

 

 

oOoOo

 

With nothing to do but wait, they had turned to the only distraction available to them: conversation. It had always flourished between them, in spite of an abundance of misunderstandings in the early days of their acquaintance, and it didn’t fail them now.

“Tell me about your engagement,” said Vetinari. Angelina wrinkled her nose with a frown.

“Which engage-  oh, _that_ engagement. Well. There’s not a lot to tell, really. Edward was the second son of a respectable family in the neighbourhood. I knew him since we were children. He was a pleasant young man, we got on well, it was generally considered a desirable match, and so we became engaged. Then he left for the Grand Sneer and that was the last we ever saw of him. I felt rather sorry for him and for his family, but can’t say that I felt particularly sorry for myself.”

“Was that before or after your encounter with Mr Fawler?”

“After. I met Chas during my first year at college. I was quite in love with him, I think, but he wasn’t then in a position to propose to a Miss Winter of Steventon, and so nothing came of it.”

“And therefore you thought you’d fling yourself into a marriage of convenience to soothe your broken heart?”

Angelina laughed.

“Perhaps there was that, to a certain degree anyway. But nothing as dramatic as you make it sound. I was never quite that romantic.”

“You could have fooled me. However, I am satisfied for now. You may ask me a question.”

She shifted in an attempt to gain a more comfortable position, which was no easy undertaking, given that the only soft thing in the boat apart from herself was Vetinari, and he was getting bonier by the day. So she settled for pushing back a strand of greasy hair and sitting up straight. Vetinari was silent.

“I am trying to decide, whether to ask you something I want to know, or something I believe you would be willing to tell.”

“Don’t be squeamish. It would grieve me to think that your captivating frankness would be somewhat diminished after seeing my dagger.”

She giggled.

“Well then, I’d like you to tell me what happened to your family. Why isn’t there anybody, apart from Lady Meserole?”

Vetinari smiled.

“I am amazed that it took you so long to ask this.” He stroked his beard. “I’m sure you must have thought there was something sinister in my family background.”

“No, I just wondered why you never mentioned anyone.”

“They are all dead now, apart from a few distant cousins, whom I have no connection with.” He shook his head at Angelina’s little moan of sympathy. “You don’t need to feel sorry for me. I was saddened at the time, but that was many years ago. The Vetinari’s were a great family once, numerous and influential and very, very rich. By my grandfather’s time, they had dwindled away due to warfare and illness, and my father was the last heir. He was a lot older than my mother, and well over fifty when I was born. He died the usual death of large, jolly men who like their food and drink and stand up for lively dances when they ought to have gone to bed.”

“Heart attack?”

“Indeed. I was fifteen then and orphaned, so Madam took me under her wings. She is my mother’s younger sister.”

“And your mother?”

“She had been killed three years earlier, in a coach accident.”

“You must have missed her very much!”

“I did. My parents were, both in their own way, very remarkable people. On the surface it might have seemed like my mother was the one with all the sense, but my father wasn’t a fool. He was loud and boisterous and jovial, but he knew how to pull all the right strings, as they say. He was certainly a force to be reckoned with. I never wanted to be like him, but I loved him nonetheless. My mother was more level-headed and also more intelligent.”

“No doubt you take after her.”

“No doubt. She gave me a strong sense of discipline and duty, but also of loyalty and devotion.” He paused and glanced at Angelina, before he went on. “I know that people think I am cold and heartless, because I never attached myself to anybody - well, not until recently. They don’t understand that I had been so completely saturated by the love of my parents, that I never needed anybody else. I certainly didn’t want anybody to replace them.”

“I thought as much.”

“Did you?”

“Yes. Nobody could be as sane as you are, if their life wasn’t built upon a rock. But you must have been lonely, being an only child.”

There was silence. Perceiving the sudden change of mood, Angelina placed her hand on his.

“My mother,” he continued eventually, “was not the only person killed in that accident. The other was Sebastian, my older brother. That ... that was the one death I couldn’t reconcile myself to. One expects parents to die sooner or later, but one counts on keeping a brother.”

Angelina didn’t know what to say. She pressed his hand in wordless solidarity. At last she ventured:

 “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’ve just told you.”

“I mean, why didn’t you tell me before? You knew I know what it’s like to lose a sibling.”

“Yes. I took some comfort from that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t have to _tell_ you. Knowing that you knew was enough.”

She pulled him over to her and he rested his head on her shoulder. A seagull chose this inappropriate moment to defile her right shoe. Angelina shook her fist at it.

 

oOoOo

 

With a flourish, Henry Winter produced a key from his pocket and turned it in the lock. He had signed the deeds weeks ago, but this was the auspicious day of actually coming into the possession of the comfortable little house in Dolly Sisters. He opened the door and extended his arm in a grand gesture of invitation.

Tvoolia Hingh stood in the miniscule front garden, slender and beautiful, with her dress of pale yellow chiffon flowing down to her ankles. She dithered. It was a momentous occasion, and she wanted to savour the thrill of anticipation just that little bit longer. Henry, however, beckoned her so eagerly, that she couldn’t delay any longer, and with a little sigh of delight she moved forwards and took a dainty step over the threshold. With keen eyes, she looked around in the hall.

“Oh, Henry, this is charming!”

The hallway was small, but well appointed, with a dark wooden floor, green wallpaper and shining white skirting boards. There were four doors, and a narrow stair leading up to the first floor. His black silk clothes rustled while Henry dashed from door to door, flinging them open, and then he stood on the rug with the look of an expectant puppy on this face.

Tvoolia poked her head into the first room, which was the parlour, and surveyed it with suitable cries of elation. But Henry didn’t leave her much time to inspect the carpet and the fireplace. He seized her hand and dragged her from room to room, and up the stairs, and further, until they had seen every apartment in the house. They ended up by the window of the principal bedroom, looking out onto the busy lane. Henry wrapped his arms around Tvoolia and kissed her enthusiastically.

“So, Princess, do you think you will be happy here?”

“Very. It is a lovely, lovely house.”

“Seven more weeks and I shall carry you over the doorstep. How will you like being Mrs Winter?”

Tvoolia’s face clouded over. **4)**

“Oh, Henry, we can’t. We have to postpone. It would be so heartless...”

“Nonsense! Lina wouldn’t want us to put off our wedding day! She’ll give us a right telling off, when she comes back and finds us unmarried still.”

“She wouldn’t want to miss it. How can you wish to go ahead without her? And what if they won’t come back at all, if they are dead!”  Tears welled up in Tvoolia’s eyes.

“Tvoolia, darling, this is Vetinari we are talking about. If it was that easy to do away with him, somebody would have done it ages ago.”

“But it’s been over three weeks now...”

“Listen, sweetheart, Lina wouldn’t drown. It’s just not the right kind of death for her. **5)** I’m sure she’s going to blow herself up one day, but that is exactly what she couldn’t have done out at sea. I bet you that they are both all snug and happy on some little island. Mark my words, they’ll be back before we know it. They’ll probably turn up at the wedding without an invitation.”

“If you think they’ll be back soon, we may as well wait for them.”

Henry hesitated and ran his hand through his thick red hair. He pulled Tvoolia closer to him and rested his chin on her shoulder.

“Well, it could be a while,” he admitted. “Depends on where they are stranded and on how easily they will get way from there. I don’t want to delay indefinitely.”

Tvoolia shook her head.

“Neither do I. It would be like standing on the doorstep without ever going into the house. It’s a shame, because if we’d had our act together, we could have had a double wedding, but that’s neither here nor there. I want us to get married soon, we’ve waited long enough. Still...  I don’t care much what people will say, but think of your parents. How could they ever enjoy the day with that worry on their minds? It really won’t do, Henry, and well you know it.”

“What about this then: If they are not back in time, we cancel the reception and just get married in a quiet way. Then, whenever they are back, we’ll have our big party with all the trimmings. Does that sound acceptable to you?”

With a gentle movement, she withdrew from him and walked back into the middle of the room. She tucked back her hair and cast her eyes around longingly. As she began to furnish the room in her mind, her gaze was caught by the delicate pattern of the wallpaper, which was pale blue and sprinkled like a sea bird’s egg. She sighed.

“Yes,” she said eventually. “I think that would be all right.”

Henry came over to her and hugged her again.

“I miss her, too,” he whispered into her ear. “But I refuse to believe that she is dead without any proof. Trust me, they’ll be back.” **6)**

And Tvoolia, nestling against him, began to believe what she wished to believe.

 **4)** **See how the metaphors match the stormy seaside theme? Clever old me!**

 **5)**   **On a planet where Narrativium _does_ exist, it is possible to make that kind of statement. **

**6)** **Trust from the fiancée is certainly in order, but I leave it to the readers to decide how much weight they give to the word of Henry Winter.**

 

 

oOoOo

Another morning dawned over an empty horizon. When Angelina woke, Vetinari was already busy with his scratch marks. She stretched and reflected on just how much she wished for a bath tub.

“Good morning. What do your navigation skills tell us?”

“Nothing very encouraging. We must be past all the islands by now. Maybe not be Trobi.”

“Well, the be Trobi owe us a favour.”

“They certainly do,” replied Vetinari and thrust his dagger into a tin of carrots.

 


	5. The viewpoint of the albatross

Lord Rust sat in the Oblong Office. His office. He had been very particular about putting his personal mark on the place. A framed iconograph of the wife stood on the desk next to his ivory snuff box. He had brought his own chair, made of finest mahogany with inlays of tortoiseshell, and his waste paper basket, fashioned out of an elephant’s foot. The horn of a rhinoceros served him as a paper weight. **1)**  

Removing all traces of his predecessor ought to have been easy. In fact, there wasn’t anything to remove, unless one wanted to count Vetinari’s pen. The room had been as impersonal as a street lamp. Within minutes, Rust had managed to make it look like Vetinari had never been there at all. And yet, there seemed to be no getting rid of him. Whenever Lord Rust was sitting at that desk, poring over the paper work, he felt as if a ghostly Vetinari was glancing over his shoulder, sneering. He ignored it, as he ignored everything that didn’t fit with his view of the world, but the unnerving feeling soaked into his mind day after day and did nothing to improve his temper.

“Mr Drumknott!” he bellowed after scanning a document.

The clerk appeared swiftly. “Yes, my lord?”

“Why is there a complaint here about the number of seamstresses in Hide Park? This is a disgrace! I’ve had the Guild of Seamstresses banned! How could their numbers increase?”

As soon as he said it, Lord Rust knew that he had put his foot in. He shouldn’t ask his secretary for advice. He was the Patrician after all. And Drumknott irritated him. The man was too smooth, too obliging. He never showed the slightest hint that he might consider the new Patrician inferior to the previous one, but in Rust’s opinion this was almost a certain sign that the clerk was thinking exactly that.

Drumknott’s face was completely neutral, as was his tone, when he replied:

“The Guild used to enforce quotas, my lord. Mrs Palm made sure that the presence of seamstresses in any part of the town remained unobtrusive. With the prohibition of the Guild, it looks as if things have got out of hand a bit.”

“Are you implying that I should not have banned the Guild?” barked Rust.

“I wasn’t implying anything, my lord. I was merely stating some facts.”

“I am not interested in - well, of course I _am_ interested in facts, but I shall be the one to decide which facts are relevant.”

“Of course, my lord.”

“Take all this away and file it,” said Rust and thrust a bundle of paper at Drumknott to get rid of the man. He watched with relief as the clerk slid out of the room. If there was the faint echo of a snigger, he most emphatically didn’t hear it. Vetinari _was_ dead. As soon as the legally required period of time was over, he would have him _declared_ dead and then - well, then what? An official new Patrician would be elected, and surely it would be him. Once the belittling attribute “acting” would be removed, he would fill his role perfectly, and there would be no more images of a smirking Vetinari floating about the room. Not that there were any now. Most definitely not.

Lord Rust had Plans. He would bring Ankh-Morpork back to its former glory. **2)** Somehow or other he would find a way to teach Johnny Klatchian a lesson after all. And of coursehe would stem the tide of undesirable elements flooding into the city. Undesirable to Lord Rust was just about anybody who couldn’t trace their ancestors back for at least twelve generations, but in particular trolls, the Undead and to a certain degree - because even Lord Rust had to admit they were hard-working and largely law-abiding citizens - dwarfs **3)**. He wasn’t going to do anything drastic. A few extra taxes here and there seemed a perfectly reasonable measure. And he would ban non-humans from employment in the public services. Including the city watch. Vimes would just have to put up with it.

The tiny voice of reason in Ronald Rust’s mind whispered that there was no way in hell Vimes would put up with it. True to his nature, Rust ignored it. e would bring Ankh-Morp

 **1)** **Lord Rust operated on the principle that curios were only worth the having if they seriously endangered at least one rare species.**

 **2)** **Like most people using this kind of expression, Rust had only a very vague notion of what had constituted Ankh-Morpork’s former glory. But it was clear to him that the past had to be better than the present time.**

 **3)** **He also had the uncanny feeling that many dwarfs could trace their ancestors back much, much further than he could. That, of course, made them undesirable again, but in a different way.**

 

oOoOo

 

They had shared the last tin of carrots. Vetinari was so weak now that he had struggled to open it. They chewed in silence, but eventually the moment came when they had to swallow, and then there was nothing left.

“I wish we hadn’t wasted water on washing,” said Angelina, “I smell like a cesspit now anyway.”

“Yes, you’ve lost your advantage over Wuffles. Well, at least you don’t look like a rabid hedgehog.”

Vetinari’s attempts at shaving with a dagger, but without soap, had not produced the desired results. It seemed of little importance now. Angelina nestled her head against his shoulder.

“What do you think will happen to us?” she asked.

He was silent and ran a finger down her cheek. The boat rolled gently in the current, carrying them ever rimwards. He didn’t even know if they were anywhere near be Trobi, and their chances of landing on an island were getting slimmer by the hour.

“They say that when you die, you have to cross a cold, dark, sandy desert all by yourself,” he said.

“And then what?”

“Who knows? I must confess that a sandy desert seems rather appealing to me at the moment. The prospect of crossing it alone used to have no terror for me. ” He grinned. “But lately I have become accustomed to company.”

This made her smile wanly.

“Well, maybe we can get a special license so we can go together.”

Vetinari made no reply. If he had ever felt daunted by the prospect of being fifty with nobody to call next of kin, he didn’t show it. In any case, being fifty and about to die together with your next of kin couldn’t be considered an improvement. Angelina pulled herself up as best she could and scanned the horizon. The ocean was dazzling in the midday sunshine and continued to impress by a complete absence of any sign of dry land.

“I am really frightened,” she said quietly. “Whoever of us dies first will have drawn the better lot, I think.”

“Maybe it will rain again.”

“Would you rather be swept over the Edge than die of thirst?”

“At least that would be a novel experience.”

She chuckled and reflected on the astonishing fact that he could make her laugh even in the face of death. Gingerly she took his hand and held it against her cheek. She closed her eyes. Had it been worth it? Would she have chosen this over the life in her parents’ house, so she could be with him for what seemed like a ridiculously short time now? It was maybe just as well that there wasn’t a choice.

 

oOoOo

 

In his office at Pseudopolis Yard, Commander Sir Samuel Vimes was wrestling with the paper work. This had become a less odious task since A.E.Pessimal had begun to scrutinize all incoming documents and arrange them in order of urgency with helpful notes attached. **4)** Still, it was ultimately Vimes who had to read them and make decisions.

Currently he was scanning a report by Constable Visit about a dubious influx of Agatean gold coins. The diligent Omnian had traced them back to their source, a task that had been complicated by the fact that a Rhinu was not the kind of coin one spends all in one go. Fragments of Agatean gold had turned up all over the city. Vimes stared at the sheet for some time, trying not to focus too much on the hunch that something about the report was extremely important. If he fixed his mind on the thought, it would disappear. So he attempted to fool his brain into believing it didn’t really matter. Eventually, he rose from his seat, opened the door and shouted for Carrot.

The captain appeared immediately and stood to attention like a suit of armour in a museum. Vimes waved his cigar in the air.

“Carrot, can you remember the name of the skipper of that boat Vetinari went on?”

This was a purely rhetorical question, since Carrot knew everybody, anywhere, by name.

“John Silver, sir, also known as Tall John.”

“Would that be the same ‘Jonathan Silver, formerly of Limonum’, who has been spending gold Rhinus in the pubs as if he can grow them on trees?”

He thrust the report at Carrot, who took it and read it with a frown of concentration. Then the captain nodded slowly and handed the sheet back to Vimes.

“I see what you mean, sir. That looks decidedly fishy.”

Vimes slammed a fist on his desk.

“I knew it! I knew Vetinari wouldn’t just have an accident. Have this John Silver arrested. Suspected of conspiracy against the Patrician.”

“I think you mean the former Patrician,” corrected Carrot.

“I know exactly what I mean!” barked Vimes. “Just get me this Silver. If he knows anything at all, we’ll find out. We’re on the trail now, Carrot, let’s hope it’s not too cold yet. We’ll get them! By the way, who organized the search parties?”

“Just the local fishermen initially, but I believe Lady Vetinari’s brother was involved in it later.”

“Henry Winter? I want him here in half an hour.”

“I’ll send Angua, sir.” **5)**

 

 **1)** **“Signature required only” was Vimes’ favourite, but it was rare.**

 **2)** **It was usually advisable to entrust Sergeant Angua with this type of errand, especially when younger men were involved.**

 

Thirty-five minutes later, Vimes’ hand connected with his desk again.

“If you thought there was something odd about the circumstances, why did you not follow it up?” he shouted.

Henry shrugged. “It was only what the paper said. They write a lot of rubbish.”

“So it never occurred to you to ask the sailors for their account? What kind of fool are you?”

Vimes stubbed out his cigar with significantly more force than necessary. Then he calmed himself. Henry Winter was not a policeman. On the bloody contrary. Vimes thoroughly disliked Vetinari’s wife, but this smug young assassin with his air of arrogant self-sufficiency was infinitely worse. Still, he couldn’t be expected to have a copper’s instincts. A harum-scarum airhead he might be, but a suspicious bastard he was clearly not. All the worse for him.

Henry watched the commander with an expression of mild amusement. He leaned back in his seat and crossed his legs.

“I am,” he said coolly, “the kind of fool who pays three hundred dollars for a major search operation, which is more than anybody else found necessary to do. I saw no reason to distrust the sailors’ word. All I asked of them was where, according to their nautical expertise, we would have to look for the boat.”

Vimes scowled.

“Which gave them the perfect opportunity to send you into the wrong direction entirely?”

“I am afraid so. As I said, I suspected no foul play. Since the whole outing to Limonum had been so unexpected, I wouldn’t have thought that anybody could plot such a thing.”

“Even though you had noticed that the account of the events did not fit with your sister’s character?”

“Well. Lina is not prone to screaming. She may not look like it, but she is a very practical and level-headed woman.”

Vimes privately put that down to an appalling lack of clear judgement on Henry Winter’s side.

“But as I already told you,” continued Henry, “I had attributed this misrepresentation to the inaccuracy of the journalist.”

 _And,_ thought Vimes, _he talks like bloody Vetinari._

“You didn’t want to find out the truth?” he growled.

“I wanted to find my sister and my brother-in-law. What exactly happened on the boat seemed of little importance.”

Vimes ignored the casual way in which the younger man flaunted his relationship with Vetinari. He leaned forward in his chair and let both his fists rest on the desk.

“Let me congratulate you, Mr Winter. You have been invaluable in concentrating all search efforts in an area where they would almost certainly not be found. I hope this will be a comfort to you, should you never see your sister again.”

“Commander Vimes,” replied Henry, “I get the distinct impression that I am no longer Helping The Police With Their Inquiries, but am meanwhile on a kind of personal tribunal for an innocent mistake I made. I can assure you that I feel the loss of my sister very acutely. But let me point out to you again that apart from the random hunting around of a few fishermen, I instigated the only search effort that was made at all. If this case is so important to you, I wonder why you did not investigate it at the time. I have nothing else to tell you. Good day.”

He got up and left, unhindered by Vimes. In the empty office, the commander buried his face in his fists. His rage against Henry Winter was slipping away, partly because he had seen tears well up in the assassin’s eyes towards the end of their conversation.  Mostly though it was being replaced by the familiar old rage against himself. Why _had_ he not investigated it at the time? It had all seemed so plausible: The spontaneous boat trip, the storm, the hysterical wife - that last part of the story in particular, Vimes had been very happy to believe, with a grim satisfaction. It would have been bizarre indeed to think of anything other than an accident.  Yet, thought Vimes, that was what suspicious bastards were _for._

 

oOoOo

 

Take the viewpoint of the albatross. Watch the boat as it is carried along by the current. The black robe has been made into an improvised sun screen, under which the two figures are huddled together, their tattered clothes encrusted with salt. The woman’s dark hair is plastered against her head and her lips are cracked and inflamed. Rampant stubble covers the man’s face. They have been unconscious since the previous evening. Now the sun is slowly rising.

Watch the other boat approaching. Observe the group of small, dark men talking animatedly in their sing-song language. They bring their vessel alongside the stricken boat and peer over cautiously. Curious wooden contraptions are employed to attach the boats to each other. Two of the dark men climb over and heave the limp bodies into their own boat, the woman first, then the man. The wooden contraptions are released and the crew make for home. The abandoned boat drifts away with the current. Five days later it goes over the edge and disappears into space.


	6. The little house on the pr... err... beach

Angelina is walking in the garden of the Steventon manor house. Cherry petals are falling out of the sky. Under a beech tree sits Penelope. She speaks. “I want porridge, I want porridge!” she keeps whining. Angelina lights a fire and pours oat flakes into a pot. Penelope pulls at her skirt. The porridge begins to bubble and rise and the pot overflows.  Porridge floods over the grass and the path. Angelina picks up her sister and tries to run towards the door of the house, but she can’t lift her feet off the ground. She hands Penelope to Constantin, who has appeared in front of her. The assassin carries the child away. An avalanche of porridge engulfs Angelina and drags her under...

She awoke, her heart pounding. It was completely dark. She stood up and felt sand under her bare feet. A dark sandy desert...

It didn’t seem right, though. She could feel her breath, her heartbeat. There was a gentle, steady roar in the background. After a while, she recognized it as the sound of waves breaking on a beach. The air was warm and smelled of the sea and of lush vegetation.

So, she reasoned, she had been asleep and had been dreaming. She had vague memories of hands and voices and water poured into her mouth, strange tasting water. Was she alive then, and had been rescued?

“Ouch!”

She had turned around and stubbed her toe. When she clutched at her foot with her hand, she lost her balance and fell forwards, scraping her shin on a large hard object in front of her. If she needed any more convincing that she wasn’t dead, this was it. Surely clumsiness wouldn’t follow her beyond the grave? Down on her knees, she stretched out her hands to explore the object. It was roughly rectangular, consisting of an apparently wooden frame around a coarsely woven surface. She realized it was a bedstead.

A bed on a pitch black beach. It was puzzling, but that was not her main concern at the moment. Gingerly she extended her hand away from the bedstead. She felt nothing but empty space. Inch by inch she shuffled around the bed, until her free hand touched something solid. It was a wall.

She decided to try the other direction and ventured a step away from the bed. Nothing. Another step, another two. Her leg brushed against something. She leaned forward to touch. Yes, here was another bed.  Anxiously she felt around until she found a hand. A large hand with long, thin fingers. Her own hand wandered up the arm, along the shoulder and arrived at a face. She held her breath while she explored it until she was sure it was the right face. Then she sank down and rested her head on his chest, listening to his beating heart.

When the sun rose over the Be Trobi Islands, Angelina awoke for the second time in this little hut by the sea shore. She opened her eyes and saw that it was indeed Vetinari in front of her and that he was alive. Since she never prayed to any gods, she didn’t know what to do with her gratitude.

 

oOoOo

 

In a little pub in Welcome Soap, Constantin Greenway was onto his fourth mug of beer. He had never been great at holding his drink, but he’d had some practice lately. The problem was, though, that this mug would very likely be the last. The landlord wasn’t going to give him any more credit. Because Constantin Greenaway wasn’t just out of spirits, he was out of a job, and therefore out of money.

 

It wasn’t fair, Constantin thought as he ran his thin hand through his brown curls. The other two bodyguards, who had shared the rota with him, had merely done their jobs, but Constantin had really put his heart into it. He had watched over Miss Winter as if she was his own sister, and he had felt just a little bit smug about the fact that he had been protecting her much better than her real brother had. Henry Winter! The thought of his colleague made Constantin snort. Henry Winter had relied on a printed threat, which was a much use as a candy floss hammer in the tougher parts of Ankh-Morpork. Constantin had been the one to dispose of more than one thug who might have cut short Miss Winter’s career in the city. And it had been Constantin, whom Vetinari had chosen to follow the runaway alchemist to Pseudopolis and keep his vigilant eye on her. He had done it with great devotion, from ushering the genial Dr Donovan up to Steventon Manor when she was critically ill to assuming the role of a footman at the Pseudopolis Assembly Rooms, so he could observe Miss Winter’s pursuits in society. The first fortnight after the wedding, Constantin had been enjoying a well-earned holiday. After all, his lordship could look after his wife himself now, couldn’t he?

 

And that was when it had all gone pear-shaped. Never would it have occurred to Constantin that the Patrician could become a victim of anyone or anything, not even of the elements. Yet he had come back from his visit home to find a redundancy notification in his pigeonhole, Rust in the Oblong Office and a story all over the city that he could scarce believe.

 

Ever since then, Constantin had been reduced to doing contract work. Contract work was something he was pretty useless at. For a start, he detested killing people, which was a significant drawback in his line of work. Moreover, though, Constantin was used to being committed. His job satisfaction depended on his need to look up to somebody, and since he had been looking up devotedly to somebody so extraordinary for quite some time, he found it near impossible to look up to anybody else. In short, he missed the Patrician.

 

For while he found it upsetting that Miss Winter was missing, presumed dead, it was nothing compared to what he felt about the loss of Vetinari. The Patrician had been his hero since his days in the Guild school, where the legends about young Havelock flourished among the pupils. Working for Vetinari had been his main ambition since the third year, and he had cherished his position at the palace more than anything else. It involved regular hours, regular pay and very seldom the necessity to kill anybody, but most of all it afforded him the occasional conversation with his lordship. Constantin knew genius when he saw it, and Vetinari was the most brilliant man he had ever met. But now the genius had fallen prey to storm and water, according to the story that was repeated over and over again in the city.

 

 _A story he could scarce believe._

There was a pause, during which the universe held its breath. **1)** Then the drunken stupor fled from Constantin, having no desire to become closer acquainted with the sudden rage that flooded the young man’s mind. Three seconds later, Constantin was through the door and out on the street, heading towards the palace.

 **1)** **Yet another of those obnoxious metaphors.**

 

oOoOo

 

Angelina was still curled up against Vetinari’s chest, when two women appeared at the door of the hut. She looked up. As soon as the women saw her, they began talking excitedly. One of them, apparently the younger, hurried away. The other woman approached Angelina and spoke to her, uttering words that were incomprehensible but clearly expressed some form of greeting. She was short and dark, her long, flowing grey hair adorned with flowers. The lower part of her body was wrapped in a bright green cloth printed with purple hippos, while her upper half was bare. She looked at Angelina with a toothless smile.

 

Angelina stood up and nodded politely, concentrating her look on the woman’s face.

“Good morning”, she said and wondered what to say next to a person who obviously didn’t speak her language and who wore significantly less clothing than Angelina was used to consider necessary. At that moment, another woman appeared, slightly taller and much younger than either of the other two. She, too, wore nothing but a cloth around her hips.

 

“Good morning,” she said with a smile that showed a tiny gap between her front teeth. “My name Kamauri. You better?”

 

“Yes, thank you. Errr …I am Angelina Winter, and this is…”

 

She glanced down at Vetinari, who had chosen this inopportune moment to open his eyes.

 

“No, actually, I am Angelina _Vetinari_ and this is …”

 

In an instant, Vetinari was upright and by her side.

 

“I am Havelock Vetinari, Patrician of Ankh-Morpork, and this is my wife.”

 

A wave of understanding passed visibly over the young woman’s face.

 

“This very fine! We know of famous Lord Vetinari. You welcome to our island.”

 

She indicated the older woman beside her.

 

“This woman name Taihameme. She look after you when you come here.”

 

Taihameme exposed her toothless gums again. Vetinari made a bow in her direction.

 

“We are greatly indebted to you, madam,” he said smoothly. Then he addressed Kamauri:

“Would you be so kind as to tell us about our arrival here? I find myself in the embarrassing position of not being able to assemble all the details.”

 

Kamauri looked confused. Angelina translated quickly:

“Tell us how we came here, please.”

 

“Fisherman from our village see you boat before five day. Bring you here. You very ill. Not had water, not had food. Too much sun. Put you here in empty hut. Woman look after you. Give you water and coconut milk. Very worry you die. But is fine. Very happy you not die. Very happy you stand and talk.”

 

“I assume that ‘here’ is be Trobi?” enquired Vetinari.

 

“Yes, be Trobi,” said Kamauri. “Aloaoey Island. Very good, very pretty. Come and see.”

 

She beckoned them to follow her out of the hut. They walked towards the door, stopped simultaneously, turned back and, after a short delay in the service of decency, stepped outside.

 

oOoOo

 

The differences between the previous and the current Patrician were so manifold, that describing them all would have filled a small library. Fortunately, there is no need for doing so within the confines of this story. One difference, however, shall be mentioned at this point: Lord Vetinari did not snore. Lord Rust did, and terrifically so. He had the kind of snore that makes the fainthearted tremble. The snore knew how to have a ball. It bounced off the ceiling, frolicked around the room and made the glass of water on his bedside table rattle gently. It was a vigorous snore, a potent snore, and it was the reason Lady Rust had insisted on separate bedrooms. In different wings of the building.

However, in the usual manner of snorers everywhere, Lord Rust was oblivious to the racket he was creating. His mind was blissfully immersed in a dream about pink bunnies and giant apple tarts. This agreeable state of things was suddenly changed, when outlying parts of his brain alerted him to the fact that a sharp object was causing some discomfort to his neck.

He opened his eyes and found that the brain had been right. Clearly a shadowy figure was sitting on his bed. A stray beam of moonlight glinted on a silky sleeve and the sharp object, Rust comprehended in a rare moment of realism, was a dagger. An assassin. Of all the questions that could have raced through Rust’s mind at this moment, the only one that actually materialized was this: If there was an assassin in his bedchamber, why was he still alive?

“What have you done to Vetinari?” the figure hissed.

“Hsfm?”

“What - have - you - done - to - Vetinari?” the shadow repeated with increased emphasis. The blade was pressed in further.

“Nothing,” rasped Rust and tried to push himself as far back into his pillow as he could.

“Don’t lie to me. You have done away with him. How did you do it?”

“No. No, please, I had nothing to do with it. I don’t know anything about it.”

Rust felt a sharp pain and then a warm trickle down his neck. It was followed by another warm trickle elsewhere. He should shout for the guards. Then it dawned on him that guards would probably be dead, because how else could the assassin have got into his room? This felon was going to kill him. **2)** “I swear, that’s the truth! I know nothing!” 

Something in his voice must have conveyed the candour of his words to the other man, because he suddenly rose and rushed towards the open window, climbed onto the windowsill and dropped into the darkness.

Rust lay in his bed, shaking. Pursuit was the last thing on his mind. He knew he ought to summon guards, servants, somebody, but right now his entire mental capacities were occupied by the frantic search for a way to hide the wet patch in his bed from the chamber maid.

 **2)** **Rust was having uncommonly many lucid moments that night, but still it did not occur to him that assassins get paid to inhume people, not interrogate them.**

 

 

oOoOo

 

 

The news that the strangers had woken up spread on the island with the speed of light, that is to say, it rolled gently from hut to hut until it had covered the whole village. Thus it was that when Vetinari and Angelina stepped outside behind the two women, they were faced by a semicircle of about three hundred be Trobi, who all eyed them with unabashed curiosity.

 

They were a curious sight indeed. More than five weeks under the open sky had given them a substantial tan, and they would have blended in well with the golden-skinned be Trobi, had it not been for their wild hair and Vetinari’s piercing blue eyes and, of course, the small matter of their attire. They had hastily dressed in their own clothes, which they had found clean and dry, albeit still tattered, by their bedsides. **3)**

Next to the be Trobi in their cheerful garb they looked like beggars. The carrot diet had not been without effect, either. Angelina, who had never suffered from a tendency to be skinny, was merely a bit thin, but Vetinari looked skeletal.

 

Shouts of cheer arose from the crowd of islanders, and presently a short, but amply proportioned man stepped forward. Like the others, the entirety of his dress consisted of a boldly patterned cloth **4)**  that covered him from waist to ankle.

 

“Good morning and welcome to Aloaoey Island! I am the Alibi of this village, and my name is Ka’adburi Ba. May I congratulate you on your recovery.”

 

He walked towards them with a wide grin and shook their hands enthusiastically.

 

“Havelock Vetinari,” his lordship replied, “and my wife, Angelina.”

 

The Alibi’s face split into a broad grin, and he seized Vetinari’s hand again and shook it some more.

 

“We are honoured, sir, we are honoured. I am sure you wonder why I speak Morporkian,” said the Alibi.

 

“Do I?” Vetinari withdrew his hand and placed is behind his back.

 

“The explanation is simple,” continued the Alibi regardless, “I went to guild school.”

 

“Indeed?” Vetinari raised an eyebrow. “I cannot seem to recall...”

 

“Oh, it was a tough regime, and no doubt about it. Dr Whiteface used to be very strict. But looking back, it seems like a jolly old time.”

 

Vetinari didn’t so much as blink, while Ka’adburi Ba waxed lyrical in reminiscences of his time at the Fools’ Guild. Meanwhile, Angelina had become surrounded by a crowd of women, who fingered her hair and dress, laughing and chattering away in Trob. She smiled politely, but was glad when the Alibi turned his attention to her.

 

“We are delighted to welcome you to Aloaoey, madam. There will be a special feast tonight to celebrate your rescue. In the meantime, is there anything you wish for?”

 

Angelina sighed.

 

“Could I please have a bath?”

 

Once translated by Kamauri, this request caused great hilarity among the villagers, and with much laughter and shouting, Angelina was dragged away by a crowd of merry be Trobi women. Vetinari followed at a dignified pace. The women led them along a winding path to a little glade in the jungle, where a rivulet among rocks had formed a deep pool of clear water. Surrounded by lush vegetation on all sides and scented with the perfume of exotic blooms, it was a heavenly bathing place beyond Angelina’s wildest imagination. Anxious to get in immediately, she turned to watch her escort leave. The be Trobi women, however, stood in a little cluster with broad smiles on their faces. Taihameme gave her an encouraging grin and gestured for her to take her clothes off.

 

Angelina approached the group of women and whispered to Kamauri.

 

“Can you please tell them to go away?”

 

“No need go away,” replied Kamauri, beaming. “Finish chores for today, not need cook dinner till later. Have lots time stay here and watch.”

 

“But I ... I would like to be alone. I don’t want to take my clothes off in front of all these people. Please go away. I will find the way back,” - a smirk appeared on Vetinari’s face -  “and my husband is here to protect me.”

 

Thoughts were passing slowly and visibly over Kamauri’s face like demented whales. **5)**

 

“You wish for...” She hesitated. “...the strange loneliness that come from desire to shut out eyes of friendly neighbours?”

 

“She means privacy,” said Vetinari to the puzzled Angelina.

 

“Privacy,” repeated Kamauri. “Your language very strange, very short.”

 

“Well, privacy is what I would like to have. Could you please tell these women that I am not used to have strangers watch me bathing?”

 

Kamauri turned to the others and spoke at length in Trob. The women shook their heads in disbelief and cast bewildered glances at Angelina, but at last they sauntered off back towards the village. When she was quite sure that they had disappeared, Angelina undressed quickly and dived into the water.

 

Vetinari merely removed his shoes and socks and sat on the edge of the pool, letting his feet dangle in the water. Angelina splashed and splattered about with the enthusiasm of a toddler. Eventually it occurred to her that the last time she had spoken to Vetinari, they had been expecting to die soon.

 

“We have been saved!” she called.

 

“It would appear so, and not before time. However, far away as we might be from home, we are conveniently placed, since all we have to do now is wait for the next rubber shipment to Ankh-Morpork.”

 

“True enough.”  She swam up to him and held on to the rocks. “Why don’t you come in?”

 

“Because my desire for privacy is even greater than yours.”

 

“Surely you are not bashful in front of your _wife?_ You do remember that you married me, don’t you?”

 

“Believe me, the fact is firmly engrained in my memory. How could I ever forget your look of embarrassment, when the Low King asked you for a dance?”

 

“Oh, you take delight in teasing me. But it’s time you took that smug grin off your face.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because this,” she said and suddenly dragged him into the water, “is where you learn to swim.”

 

There was a splash and then, predictably, an outburst of laughter from among the trees.

 

 **3)** **Their considerable embarrassment on discovering their nudity had caused Taihameme and Kamauri much mirth.**

 **4)** **Blue crocodiles on a pink background, interspersed for some reason with yellow hairbrushes.**

 **5)** **This doesn’t even qualify as a metaphor, so bring it on, Olaf Quimby II.**

 


	7. Lady Rust invites to tea

Arresting Jonathan Silver had been no more than a routine job for Sergeant Detritus. Few people would feel inclined to argue, if two tons of rock put a hand on their shoulder, even if the associated mouth says: “I arrest you in da name of da law.”

“You have da right to remain silent,” said Detritus as he escorted Silver up to the watch house. “But I would not choose to do dat, if I was you, because da commander, he is not amused.”

Ten minutes later, Detritus knocked - gingerly, so as not to break through the wood - on the door to Commander Vimes’ office.

“Come in, Detritus!”

“How did you know dat it was me?” said the troll.

“Just a lucky guess, sergeant. Did you arrest the suspect?”

“Yes, sir. He is down in da cell.”

“Let’s see what he has to say for himself then.”

They descended the stairs, passed through the front room and went down to the cells. Tall John Silver sat on his plank bed with a sullen expression. Vimes blinked. For reasons he could not explain, it had momentarily confused him to see that the suspect had two healthy legs. **1)**

Vimes lit a cigar. He shook out the match, took a deep puff and fixed his eyes on the prisoner.

“Tell me, Mr Silver, what happened that day you took the Vetinaris out in your boat? Why did you return without them? Isn’t the captain to be the last to abandon ship?”

“I’ve already told it all to that newspaper woman.”

“Have you now? Well, I don’t know about Limonum, but in Ankh-Morpork crime investigations aren’t led by journalists. What? Oh never mind Sergeant Detritus, he’s just taking notes.”

In blatant defiance of this claim, the troll stood in the doorway nonchalantly holding a truncheon. John Silver scratched his ear.

“Well, it’s as I told that Miss Crisplogge or whatever her name is. We came into some bad weather, and the boat was damaged - “

“Exactly how was it damaged?”

“The tiller broke. Anyway - “

“Can you explain to me, Mr Silver, how stormy weather can break the tiller?”

“Well, it’s like - “

“Or shall we assume that is was broken by more, how shall I put it, _conscious_ forces? And while we’re at it, can you tell me why damage to the tiller would force you to abandon the boat? In my ignorance I had assumed that skilled sailors could manoeuvre their vessel by means of the sails. But of course you are the expert, Mr Silver. Enlighten me.” Vimes blew out the smoke in a leisurely wisp.

Silver gave him a scornful look.

“That’s not as easy as you imagine. It’s not a thing two men can do on their own, not with that nasty wind and that treacherous current.”

“And so you abandoned your ship and your passengers?”

“You have some right romantic notions about sea faring, haven’t you?” Silver sneered. “Great ideas about the proud captain going down with his ship? I’m no hero. I had a life boat, so I used it. It’s not my fault that the posh lady wouldn’t trust her life to my little rowing boat.”

Vimes scrutinized the prisoner. True enough, he didn’t look like a hero. A skinny man with thin blonde hair and a lank moustache, he sat on his bed like something Harry King’s men **2)**  had left behind. The air of guilt and defiance about him, however, was thick as distressed pudding. **3)**  

“You know, Mr Silver, this interests me. You told Miss Cripslock that Lady Vetinari was screaming hysterically. I have it on good authority that Lady Vetinari would be very unlikely to behave like that.”

The prisoner shrugged. “Likely or not, that’s what she did. She wouldn’t budge, and in the end we had to leave them behind.”

“Ah, now we come to the interesting part of the story. You rowed back to Limonum, a skipper without a boat. A ruined man, one would think.  And still the next thing we hear about you is that you go about Ankh-Morpork spending large amounts of Agatean rhinus. Can you explain that?”

Silver’s surly expression didn’t change.

“I had something put by for a rainy day.”

“You must have been expecting some downpour! Agatean gold coins? Damn, you’re a fisherman. What did you catch, a school of fish with golden scales?”

“I was left something by my late granny. You can’t pin anything on me, mister.”

 

Vimes took another puff of his cigar and blew out the smoke slowly. He glanced at his watch. It was twenty-five to six.

 

“Very well, Mr Silver. You force my hand. I really regret what I have to do now, but you leave me no choice.”

 

For the first time during the interview, Silver looked worried. “What will you do?”

 

“I will have to hand you over to Captain Carrot.”

 

 

 **1)** **Internarrative references have an uncanny way of catching people unawares.**

 **2)** **Harry King’s motto was, of course “Recycling Nature’s Bounty”, and while his business profited from dog muck and dead horses, it must be assumed that he would have drawn the line at recycling humans.**

 **3)** **If you think this is another blooming metaphor, you’re wrong. Go and google “simile”.**

 

 

oOoOo

 

 

Rufus Drumknott had just come Home. As usual, he was a changed man as soon as he walked through the door, though the change was not a dramatic one. It was a gentle shift from one state of existence to another, a straightening of his shoulders, a relaxing of his face. He had always kept his professional and his private self carefully separated. During the years he had worked for Vetinari, he had simply considered it appropriate; now with Rust in the Oblong Office, it was a way to keep himself sane.

 

He sat down at the kitchen table. Elsie kissed him casually, then she put down a plate of steaming potatoes, sausages and gravy in front of him. She stood behind him and ruffled his hair, while he let his head rest against her.

 

“I’m sorry I’m late again,” said Drumknott. “Have you had your dinner?”

 

“Yes, I was very hungry. I think that is normal at this stage.”

 

He turned his head and planted a small kiss on the rounded belly. Elsie laughed and withdrew with mock bashfulness.

 

“Don’t let it go cold.”

 

“Delicious gravy,” he said, as he began to eat.

 

Elsie sat down opposite to him, resting her chin on her hand, her bright, freckled face turned to him with silent attention. With her other hand, she twisted a curl of her glossy red hair around a finger. Drumknott ate in silence, with slow and neat movements of the cutlery. Each piece of sausage was skewered on the fork together with a slice of potato, dipped into the gravy and then lifted up to the mouth. **4)**

“How was your day?” she asked, when he had finished.

 

He sighed and shook his head.

 

“It’s getting worse. There were forty-eight letters of complaint today, and he just shoved them into his desk drawer. He keeps his pipe in his in-tray.”

 

“That is terrible,” said Elsie loyally.

 

“And he leaves the lid of the ink well lying about on the desk. The report about the Guild of Exotic Dancers was full of ink stains.”

 

They looked at each other silently, while they both contemplated the horror of this.

 

“But haven’t they been banned, together with the seamstresses?” asked Elsie.

 

“They have. The report was about the protest staged by their customers. There seem to be more protests going on in the city now than businesses operating.  If He knew about this…”

 

Drumknott’s tone made it quite clear that “He” was a very different person from “he”. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

 

“Elsie, I fear it is all my fault.”

 

“Nonsense, Rufus, how can it be your fault?”

 

“His lordship would have never gone to Limonum and out on a boat trip, if he hadn’t married Miss Winter. And he wouldn’t have married Miss Winter, if I hadn’t encouraged him.”

 

“Really?” exclaimed Elsie and leaned forward eagerly.

 

“Oh, I had watched them tiptoeing around each other for months. She behaved very much like you, you know, I could see that she was in love with him, but she tried so hard not to show it. And he really didn’t notice. It was strange, he had always been so astute, but in this case he was more of a fool than I had been.”

 

They smiled at each other in reminiscence of their own courtship. Elsie stretched out her hand across the table, and Drumknott took it and gently stroked it with his thumb.

 

“Anyway, it wasn’t my place to say anything, of course, but one day his lordship actually asked my opinion. So I gave him some cautious encouragement.”

 

“You never told me.”

 

“No, that would have been indiscreet while it was all still up in the air. And later on, with Miss Winter having gone away and all that, I just forgot about it. But there is no reason not to tell you now. I was the one to cheered his lordship on, so to speak, and if I hadn’t, he might never have pursued her further and then he would still be with us…”

 

“Oh, Rufus, don’t be silly. I cannot imagine Lord Vetinari needing your encouragement to court Miss Winter. He is such a splendid man, and always so confident.”

 

“He didn’t think of it that way, Elsie. He thought that she didn’t care for him and that he was too old for her.”

 

“And what did you say to him?”

 

“Not very much, just, eh… just to have courage, I think.”

 

Elsie shook her head slowly and patted Drumknott’s hand.

 

“Stop worrying about it. It is not your fault. They would have found each other regardless. Believe me, that’s the truth. Very few lovers need somebody to sort things out for them. We didn’t, remember?”

 

Drumknott smiled.

 

“Yes, I remember. Elsie, do you really think I needn’t blame myself?”

 

She rose, walked over to him and embraced him. He leaned his face against her, while she stroked his hair. Suddenly he jerked away his head.

 

“Ouch!”

 

Elsie laughed and caressed his cheek.

 

“I’m sure you can stop blaming yourself now. If you ever had the slightest bit of guilt, somebody has given you a good kick in the head for it, and now we can consider it done with.”

 

 **4)** **Elsie didn’t know about 5-a-day, and vegetables would have just made things messy.**

 

oOoOo

 

The be Trobi islands were, to put it mildly, remarkable. They shared a sunny climate with other regions close to the rim, but the sunny disposition of the be Trobi people was fairly unique and due to a combination of favourable factors not found anywhere else on the Disc. In other parts of the world a leisurely lifestyle was only achieved by those who had the means to employ subordinates for all the work. The subordinates had a disagreeable tendency to resent this, which often lead to unpleasant events like revolutions.

 

The be Trobi never had to work for more than a couple of hours a day, unless they wanted to. The outdoors was at any time of the year so hospitable, that their houses were small and contained little else apart from beds. Therefore household chores played a very minor role in the lives of the be Trobi. Food was so plentiful, both in the form of fish in the sea and fruit on the land, that they rarely had to do much more than stretch out their hands to get dinner on the table. The commodities of the more materially minded civilizations were purchased from the Agatean Empire, because the be Trobi were, in spite of appearances, unreasonably rich.

 

Nature, always willing to do the whimsical thing, had provided them with some uncommon resources, two of which were the basis of their considerable wealth. Oyster beds lay conveniently placed in shallow coastal waters, and the diamondwood forests on the slopes of Mount Awayawa yielded a timber so durable and attractive, that the Agatean merchants were willing to trade it for the finest fabrics, kitchenware and iconographs. **5)** It was actually surprising that the be Trobi even bothered with the rubber plantations. **6)**

The third great gift of nature was one that the be Trobi kept to themselves. In the sultry swamps at the foot of Mount Rahuaruaha grew a flower - in abundance, for this was be Trobi - of great potency. It could be called a lotus, though the be Trobi called it “that exquisite flower growing at the foot of Mount Rahuaruaha, that fills the mouth of the widow with laughter and tickles the loins of the cross-eyed youth.” The effect of this plant was astonishing. All it took was a couple of lotus flowers, chopped up and added to the big communal bowl of fruit salad which the villagers liked for their breakfast, and yet another day of happiness lay ahead of them, unsullied by worries or undue introspection.

Blessed with easy access to all necessities of life and in the absence of any hardship, the islanders had nothing to complain about, and to the amazement of the gods, they didn’t. Even childbirth was easy on be Trobi. Thus the islands were a haven of peace and contentment, where voices were raised only in song and fists clenched only during the Nohuihuinono game. One might think there would be a drawback. There wasn’t. There weren’t even mosquitoes. It had pleased Nature to create a paradise, and she wasn’t going to mess with it. ****

For Vetinari and Angelina this meant a calm and relaxation hitherto unknown. Since there was nothing for them to do other than wait for a ship, they were forced to take a holiday. In fact, the calm and relaxation were so complete that they became almost irritating. For the Vetinaris were free from the effect of the lotus flower. They did not partake in the communal breakfast after Angelina had cast a suspicious eye on the plant and informed her husband about the narcotic propensities of this species.

“Aha,” said he. “That explains how they can be attending the same festival every evening, socializing with the very same people they have spent the entire day with, without showing any signs of ennui. But since we need to keep our minds clear, we’d better abstain from these mood enhancers.”

And so Worry and Introspection saw their chance and pounced on the Vetinaris. They could not help imagining all the things that might be going wrong back home. Watching the overt contentment of their hosts only seemed to fuel their irritation. There is nothing as effective as seeing a bunch of very happy people to make one dwell on one’s own problems. After less than a week of walking along the beach and sitting under palm trees, they were hungry for some other occupation to stop their minds from brooding.

Angelina got hold of a sewing kit and mended their clothes, though the hot climate meant that she was usually seen in nothing but her knee-long linen chemise, while even Vetinari walked about in rolled-up shirt sleeves. One day he found Angelina busy with some of the bright fabric favoured by the be Trobi. She had cut two small triangular pieces and was in the process of hemming and connecting them with purple ribbon.

“What are you making? Some kind of loobla trap **7)**?”

“Wait till I show you, it’s almost done.”

She finished the last few stitches and demonstrated: The two triangular pieces of cloth covered her upper half and were held in place by the ribbons fastened on her back. There was a matching short skirt. Angelina beamed at Vetinari, as she held up these items.

“It’s a swimsuit. So I won’t have to worry about ‘the strange loneliness that come from desire to shut out eyes of friendly neighbours’.”

“Do you have a name for it?”

“Well, it leaves a lot of skin uncovered, particularly the knees, and it comes in two parts, so maybe ‘bi-skin-knee’ would be a suitable name.”

He rolled the name around his mouth for a moment. “Well done for not calling it ‘a comfortable form of attire that lets the sweet winds caress the navel’or something like that.”

“Thank you“

“But the garment will never catch on. Why have you painted your face green?”

“It’s a moisturizing mask. I made it with coconut milk and some herbs Kamauri gave me.”

“May I ask why?”

She looked up at him, her eyes two circular human windows in an oval of green goo.

“Dearest Havelock, you didn’t think a complexion like mine comes naturally to a woman of thirty-six?”

As time went by, they spent less time with each other and more with the villagers. Angelina attached herself to a group of younger women around Kamauri, with whom she explored the island and swam in the balmy sea. Vetinari sought out the only person who might be considered in the same line of business. At first he tried to speak with Ka’adburi Ba about matters of politics, but the Alibi, whose main purpose was to preside at the almost perpetual festivities in the village, had little use for his lordship’s advice, and so they settled for playing the Nohuihuinono game.

In that manner they spent their days separately, and at night they sat together outside their hut, talking and watching the moonlight on the sea. Rarely did they join the islanders for their evening’s entertainment. The be Trobi sense of humour after a few bowls of palm wine was more than either of them could bear.

 **5)** **They had in the past offered dis-organizers, too, but for some reason the be Trobi did not want them.** ****

**6)** **In fact, they considered the production of Troglodyne-free rubber their contribution to the international community.**

 **7)** **The be Trobi looblas are small endemic mammals with oversized paws and bushy hair on their ears. They have a habit of crawling into people’s beds at night and placing wet noses against any exposed areas of skin. The be Trobi didn’t mind. The Vetinari’s did.**

 

oOoOo

 

Sybil Vimes stifled a yawn. It seemed unfair that she would be so bored before she had even entered the room. However, there was nothing for it. She would have much rather taken a walk with Young Sam, but she knew where her social duties lay. However much she was repelled by the prospect of taking tea with Lady Rust, she was going to give the woman her due, and she was going to do it gracefully.

The footman opened the door for her and announced her arrival to the ladies inside. Hermetia Rust rose to greet her.

“Sybil, I am _so_ glad you could come to our little party. What a charming outfit!”

“Is it?” Sybil looked down on her generic tea party gown and shrugged. “Well, thank you.”

“Do come and sit down. Can I offer you a cup of tea?”

“Oh, I’ll have coffee, please, if you don’t mind.” She knew that the other ladies would consider this not quite refined enough, so it suited her very well.

Had the conversation of the other ladies been worthwhile, she might have felt less resentment about the time she was kept away from her pens and from Young Sam. But none of the three had the remotest interest in dragons, and she found their discourse tedious beyond measure. She allowed her mind to drift while continuing to make little affirmative comments from time to time. It was technique she had learnt from Sam. Nodding and smiling she occupied herself with mentally going over the breeding programmes for the forthcoming year. A particularly high pitched trill from the mouth of Regina Selachii brought her back to the present.

“Well, Hermetia, I cannot tell you just how delighted I am to see you as First Lady of Ankh-Morpork! It is really a position that is only adequately filled by a highly-born woman such as you are. I shudder to think what might have - but let us not speak about that.”

“Indeed,” replied Hermetia, patting the hair at the side of her head, “let us not speak of unpleasant things. I am very glad that my Ronnie has eventually received the recognition he deserves. I know it is only temporary, at least for now, but I think people will be very satisfied with the policies he delivers, and then I am sure he will be given the post permanently. ‘Acting Patrician’ is a somewhat belittling title, don’t you think?”

“No doubt. But in a way we should be glad it all happened the way it did. You hear strange stories about Lord Snapcase’s death. At least this time everything is above board, no mystery and no foul play.”

“I wonder if Sam agrees with that.”

Three heads turned towards Sybil sharply.

“Whatever do you mean, Sybil?”

“Oh, nothing in particular.”

She wasn’t going to say any more. It had been enough to get them worried. Not much later, she made her excuses and hurried back home.


	8. What’s the name of the game

It was quarter past ten in the morning. Normally, he would have finished going through the mail by now, instructed Drumknott as to which citizens would find themselves with appointments that day and perused a considerable number of special, or at least almost special, reports. Instead he was squatting on an insanely patterned beach blanket, dressed in trousers that didn’t even cover his knees, and with a coconut between his feet. He sighed.

Out in the shallow waters that surrounded Aloaoey Island, his wife was splashing about with a group of be Trobi women, all of whom were wearing bi-skin-knees. Angelina’s first appearance in her self-designed beach wear had caused quite a stir among the villagers, and soon she was making the things by the dozen for her new friends. Vetinari was grateful for this, because it saved him a certain amount of embarrassment during encounters with the local females.

He turned his attention to the coconut and gave it an experimental prod with a dagger. The soft, almost fabric-like appearance of the surface was deceptive; he could not make the slightest dent in it. He regarded it intently. There were three dark round dimples at one end, giving the coconut the look of a baffled fish. He tried to thrust the dagger into one of those indentations. It went in up to the point where the blade widened and then sat on the edge of the dimple. He pulled it out with a jerk.

Laughter pealed across from the bathing women. When he glanced over, the group was visibly reduced and Angelina nowhere to be seen. He rose from his blanket. With a splatter Angelina surfaced, followed by a handful of islanders. Seconds later he saw her disappear under the water again.

He looked around. Small outcrops of volcanic rock punctuated the beach here and there, and one of them peeped out of the sand not twenty yards away. He walked over and whacked the coconut against the rock. There seemed to be no immediate effect. He returned to his seat. After careful inspection he found that a miniscule crack had appeared along one side of the shell. He inserted the dagger into the crack and tried to use it as a lever. With a faint but defiant little noise, the tip of the blade broke off.

The noises of a swimmer wading ashore made him look up. Angelina was approaching, wringing the water out of her hair.

“Why don’t you join us for a dive? It’s a whole new world under water. You should see those colours, they are amazing!”

“I’d rather not.”

“Oh, come on, the water is lovely! A little sea-bathing would set you up forever.”

With a nonchalant movement of his hand, Vetinari put the coconut behind his back. “What do you mean?”

Angelina frowned in puzzlement.

“I don’t know. It just seemed like the right thing to say.” **1)**

She knelt down beside him. Salty water dripped on the blanket.

“Kamauri says her second cousin says there might not be another ship to Ankh-Morpork for at least two months.”

“I don’t want to rely on the island grapevine any longer. I will go to Uyoiyahuoi harbour as soon as I find somebody to take me across. Come with me or stay here, whichever you prefer.”

“I’ll stay. I can forgo a marine excursion at the moment.”

Vetinari regarded her glistening skin and soaking clothes.

“I would never have guessed.”

Giggling and shaking water out of their hair, the other women had drawn close. They stood in a semi-circle around Vetinari and Angelina, laughing, chattering, adjusting their wet bi-skin-knees. Suddenly, one of them stooped and seized the coconut, held it up high and said something in Trob that caused much mirth among her friends.

“You want this open?” Kamauri said to Vetinari.

She gestured for them to get off the blanket, then she took the coconut and placed it in the centre of the cloth. With a smug grin she picked it up by the four corners. In this impromptu sling she took it over to the volcanic outcrop, swung it round over her shoulder a few times and then smashed it against the rock. Tremendous hilarity among her friends greeted her triumph. Vetinari averted his eyes. There was nothing he could do about these women. He had tried the eyebrow on them once and the resulting laughter had kept ringing in his ears even in his dreams.

 **1)** **Which just goes to show that once established, internarrative references are hard to stop.**

 

oOoOo

 

The weather in Ankh-Morpork, alas, did not invite the donning of beach wear, and even if it had, only the seriously suicidal would have considered a dip in the river. Naked feet were likewise unadvisable, for reasons as manifold as the sources of Harry King’s wealth. It was therefore hardly surprising that Commander Vimes arrived at Pseudopolis Yard in heavy boots and an even heavier coat.

He greeted the duty sergeant in the front room and stomped up the stair to his office. A small fire crackled amiably in the grate. Vimes sank into his chair and surveyed his desk. Apparently A.E. Pessimal had already been at work, for the topmost sheet in his in-tray bore a small, pink self-adhesive note with the neatly printed words: “For your immediate attention.” He picked it up and read it. Then he seized the speaking tube and called for Captain Carrot.

The dwarf **2)** appeared, filling the room with the scent of soap and armour polish. Vimes gestured towards the report.

 “How did you do it?”

“Sir?”

Vimes waved the paper at him.

“How did you get him to confess? He was as stubborn as a Hershebean ass when I spoke to him.”

“I read him his rights, sir. And then he confessed.”

“That was it?”

“Yes, sir.”

Carrot’s features were impenetrable. Vimes looked at him warily and then shrugged. He had long ago given up trying to figure out the Captain’s hold on people’s minds. Carrot was a rebus wrapped in a crossword inside a brainteaser, or something like that. He returned his attention to the report. Silver had admitted that he and his accomplice Bob Shafto had abandoned the Vetinaris deliberately, in fulfilment of an informal, but lucrative contract with a mysterious stranger.

“ ‘A tall woman, wrapped up in a long grey cloak.’ Is that all?”

“Apparently he couldn’t see her face because of the hat.”

“That’s not enough to go by. There must be more. Come.”

He led the way down to the cells. Silver had been dozing and sat up with a start when he heard the keys rattling. He winced at the sight of Carrot. Vimes weighed him up in his mind. Average chap, really, just trying to make ends meet. That sort can be decent enough, until greed kicks in. Then they are cunning and unscrupulous, but also not very bright. A brighter man would have thought twice about the risks involved in dumping the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork in the Circle Sea.

“Good morning, Tall John,” growled Vimes. “Don’t bother getting up. I only have one little question for you. Oh, Captain Carrot is just accompanying me today for training purposes. So, tell me, Mr Silver, what was she like, the elusive lady who gave you all those lovely Rhinus?”

“She was tall.”

“And?”

“She wore a grey coat. All the way down to her ankles.”

“Mr Silver, I’m looking for a little bit more information here. What did she look like? Hair, teeth, nose, skin colour? You must be able to give some sort of description.”

The prisoner shrugged.

“I’ve already told _him_ ,” he glanced at Carrot, “that I couldn’t see her properly because of her hat. It was almost down to her chin.”

“There must be something. What about her tone of voice, her manner of walking? Give me a clue, Mr Silver!”

John Silver shook his head.

“All I can say is that she was very tall and smelled of lilies.”

Bull’s-eye!

“Are you sure it was lilies?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” said Silver sulkily. “I remember the smell from my old granny’s funeral.”

“Fair enough, Mr Silver, that will do for now.”

 

 **2)** **Technically. Sizeist remarks are discouraged.**

 

oOoOo

 

 Ka’adburi Ba enjoyed the leisurely afternoons with Lord Vetinari. It pleased him greatly to entertain such an illustrious man. With care had he positioned the table on the veranda in front of his hut, plumped the cushions in the two cane chairs, filled a jug with palm wine and a bowl with lotus petals. Most importantly, he had set up the Nohuihuinono board. It was a large board, thirty by thirty squares, to accommodate at least some of the shorter words of the Trob language. In deference to his guest, though, they played in Morporkian. Occasionally they would exchange a few words, but most of the time nothing was heard but the clicking of the tiles and the scribbling of the pencil. Vetinari kept the score. They had spent many afternoons in this manner, but the Alibi had not yet won a single game. Not that he minded. He nibbled a lotus petal.

H-E-R-M-E-T-I-C (26)

D-A-N-C-I-N-G (18)

F-I-G-G-I-N-S (24)

P-U-M-P-K-I-N (19)

K-A-Z-O-O (22)

Vetinari had scored over twenty points again with a five letter word. How did he do it? Ka’adburi Ba squinted at the fifteen letters in front of him. Sweat trickled gently down his back.

C-U-C-U-M-B-E-R-S

Not really great, only seventeen points. He sighed.

A-S-S-A-S-S-I-N-A-T-I-O-N

Rats, his lordship had just scored forty-five points. Blasted triple word scores! Never mind.

A-N-D-W-I-C-H, he added to the word “cucumbers”. That took him onto the double word score.

“You cannot put that,” said Vetinari.

“Why not?”

“It’s two words.”

“It isn’t! Cucumbersandwich, one word.”

“No, it’s two.”

“I’m sure it’s hyphenated.”

“It isn’t, and even if it was, hyphenated words are not permitted.”

Grumbling, Ka’adburi Ba settled for S-W-I-T-C-H-E-D. He was a peace-loving man, and after this confrontation, he felt that a bit of small talk was in order.

“So a rubber shipment is expected for next week? You’d better make the most of your remaining time here.”

Q-U-E-S-T-I-O-N-A-B-L-E

“Do you want to visit the Orohai peninsula?”

“I don’t know. Why would we?”

“Strangers always want to see the sponge eating pigmies. The coral houses look very quaint, too. Lotus petal?”

“No, thank you.”

Ka’adburi Ba picked up a handful of letters and placed them on the board.

Q-U-I-N-T-A-N-T

“That’s not a word,” said Vetinari.

“Yes, it is. It is a navigation instrument.”

“That would be a sextant, not a quintant.”

“Here we use a quintant. Navigation works differently this close to the rim. Twenty-four points.”

“I won’t score it. It’s not a word.”

“I am telling you it is!”

“Show me the dictionary then.”

“You know very well we don’t have a dictionary.”

“That is your problem. I am not accepting a made-up word.”

The Alibi clenched his fist. Then he tilted his head to look at a different corner of the board. Eventually, he swept his last word off the table and put down another.

T-A-N-T-A-L-I-Z-E

“Are you happy now?”

“My emotional state is irrelevant to this situation. You score thirty-one points.”

D-E-C-L-I-N-E (17)

C-O-C-O-N-U-T (18)

E-S-C-A-P-E-D (22)

K-I-S-S-I-N-G (15)

I-N-D-I-S-C-R-E-E-T (24)

“Are there any left in the bag?” asked the Alibi.

“Yes, seven.”

“You know how many?”

“Don’t you?”

Ka’adburi Ba sighed. He wouldn’t put it past the man to keep track of how many letters were out on the board. In fact, he was aware that Lord Vetinari was as superior to himself in intellect and efficiency as an albatross is superior to a duck in wingspan and grace. No wonder the man had ruled Ankh-Morpork. He didn’t even sweat! And yet he had been taken in by a woman. That at least Ka’adburi Ba had avoided carefully all his life. He smiled to himself and nibbled some more lotus. When it turned out that Vetinari’s final score came to over seven hundred, the Alibi raised his glass of palm wine and toasted his guest without a trace of envy.

 

oOoOo

 

Breaking into the Assassin’s Guild wasn’t as difficult as one might expect, at least not for someone who had been a pupil there. Among any group of young men confined in a building at night, there is always an abundance of reasons that urgently require their absence from the dormitories. The location of convenient alternatives to the front entrance is the kind of information that tends to stick in the memories of the alumni.

Constantin slipped up a staircase and along the corridor to the east wing. The Head of the Assassins Guild had his apartments on the second floor. There were no guards - any assassin unable to see to his own safety deserved whatever he was getting.

Lord Downey occupied three rooms leading off the landing by the north stair of scorpion house. Constantin was making for the bedroom door, when he perceived the faint shimmer of light from under the study door. 

Noiselessly, he knelt down in front of the door. He took a goose feather out of his pocket and swept it along under the door. When he pulled it out again, the tip had been shorn off. Next he inserted a slim tube of rolled-up paper into the keyhole. The faintest hissing sound was heard. Constantin extracted the paper tube. It was soaked in a pale green liquid. He nodded grimly. If he had been foolish enough to put his eye to the keyhole, he would now be looking at a future with a black patch on his face. From another pocket he produced a small metal tube, which was, in fact, a miniature periscope. He inserted it into the key hole and peeped through the end.

It took him a few moments to make sense of what he was seeing. Then he began to discern curtains, the fireplace, items of furniture. He moved the periscope around gingerly until he found Downey. The head assassin stood by a heavy oak bookcase with a large volume in his hands and his back to the door.

Constantin considered his next move. The door would be unlocked. It was always unlocked. The day the Head of the Assassins Guild felt he had to lock his door would be the day he might as well eat his own almond cake. There was no point in waiting. Any second, Downey might close his book and look towards the door. It was now or never. Constantin turned the handle and slipped into the room.

The first thing he noticed was that the space in front of the bookcase was quite empty. **3)** The second thing he became aware of with unpleasant urgency was the sharpness of a blade against his throat, a trick which he very much preferred to play on other people rather than vice versa. How the head assassin could have possibly moved so quickly was a mystery. But he evidently had, because the voice that now spoke belonged unmistakably to Lord Downey.  

“Not bad, not bad. Young Greenaway, isn’t it? Nine out of ten, my lad. I barely heard you coming.” He released his grip on Constantin. The younger assassin stepped back cautiously, but Lord Downey laughed and patted him on the shoulder. He walked over to his desk and eased himself into his armchair.

“Sit down, Greenaway. Would you care for an almond slice?”

“Thank you, sir, I had a good supper.”

“Fair enough.” Downey leaned back in his chair. “Now, Greenaway, I am intrigued. I didn’t think you were one for doing contract work.”

“I’m not on a contract, sir.”

“You aren’t? My dear Greenaway, this can hardly be a practice assignment. You graduated, what, five years ago?”

“Seven.”

“Really? Well, doesn’t time fly. So what brings you here then? No contract, no assignment. I doubt that you just wanted a little chat with your old principal. Out with it, man!”

Constantin drew breath. How could he explain? Elaborate lies were not his forte. So the easiest thing to do was probably telling the truth.

“Sir, it is ... I ... that is to say, I was trying to find out... I want to know what has really happened to the Vetinaris. I don’t believe his lordship would just have an accident like that. It would be so completely unlike him. And I don’t believe this bit in the paper about Miss Winter going hysterical, either. I’ve spend a lot of time watching Miss Winter, and I just can’t imagine her behaving that way. I think somebody staged this. At first I thought of Rust, but it wasn’t him.”

“How do you know?”

“I paid him a little visit, and if there had been anything he could have told me, I’m sure he would not have kept it to himself. So I was wondering who else could have a motive...”

Downey tutted.

 “And so you’ve decided to creep up on me and tickle a confession out of me? In my own office? Bad style, Greenaway. I agree with you, though. I don’t believe Vetinari just had an accident. Somebody did away with him. But it astonishes me that you think it would be me. What is the motto of the Assassin’s Guild, Greenaway?”

“Nil Mortifi Sine Lucre, sir,” said the schoolboy in Constantin promptly.

“Indeed. No exceptions, not even for me. The only people in Ankh-Morpork who could afford to have Vetinari inhumed are the Duke and Duchess of Ankh, and believe me, they are pretty much the least likely to want him dead. Furthermore, just dumping somebody in a boat without a paddle and involving their wife, too - what kind of style is that? No, Greenaway, this was the act of an amateur.”

Constantin sighed. Imagination was not his strong side and he couldn’t think of another suspect. At least he seemed to have an ally now.

“What are you going to do about it, sir?”

“Nothing of course.”

“But Rust is making such a mess of things!”

Downey’s face showed the faintest hint of a smirk.

“I won’t pay you for inhuming him, Greenaway, if that is the thought I can see passing through your mind.”

“Sir! I don’t know what to do. His lordship - Lord Vetinari, I mean, would be devastated if he saw the state of the city. There are people _leaving_ , sir!”

“Don’t fret, Greenaway. Lord Rust is only Acting Patrician. When the legal waiting period is over, Vetinari will be declared dead,” - Constantin flinched at this - “and a permanent Patrician will be officially elected. I will make sure that a more suitable candidate will be chosen.”

“Do you have somebody in mind?”

“I do indeed.” Downey drummed his fingers on the desk and looked musingly at the fireplace. “Oh, yes, I do.”

 **3)**   **Which does not mean completely empty as, say, the vast expanses of outer space. There were, for example, ample numbers of dust mites happily munching away in the carpet. But “quite empty” or rather, “specifically empty” was an accurate enough description of the absence of any person.**

 

 

oOoOo

 

Angelina raked the sand on the floor of the hut and sang to herself. When Vetinari appeared in the door, she stopped in both these activities and gave him a welcoming smile. He kissed her casually on the cheek and sat down. It was a fascinating, but also slightly disturbing fact that when Lord Vetinari sat down on a basket chair, it didn’t creak. Angelina resumed her raking.

 

“You never sing when I am around,” said Vetinari.

 

“Of course not. Why would I antagonize you with something you dislike?”

 

“That is very considerate of you, but don’t you think it lacks spirit? You should try to convince me and make me give up my prejudice against performed music.”

 

“Oh, is it a prejudice then?”

 

“I am sure you think it is.”

 

“Well, I can tolerate it. And I don’t think I could convince you otherwise. It’s not as if I am such a great musician. I’m just a devoted amateur, not like...” She broke off.

 

“Not like who?” demanded Vetinari.

 

“Oh, nothing. You know what, Taihameme gave me some lovely fish that I can grill for dinner, and...”

 

“Angelina! Don’t distract. You are not like who?”

 

“Look, Havelock, it’s really not important.”

 

Vetinari came over to her and put his hands on her shoulders.

 

“I shall be the judge of that. I think I know what you were going to say. You were referring to Dame Gina Dulci, weren’t you?”

 

“Hmm.”

 

She turned her head away to avoid his eyes, but he framed her face in his hands and forced her to look at him.

 

“Well?”

 

“Henry said you had an affair with her,” she said quietly. “He said...he said that you had quite a collection of illustrious ladies.”

 

“What difference would that make? I married _you_.”

 

Angelina cast down her eyes and sighed pathetically.

 

“Listen, Angelina. There is no collection of illustrious ladies. I did have an affair with Dame Gina Dulci, but it didn’t last long, because on closer acquaintance I was not very impressed with her. I couldn’t stand her any more than the other women who have thrown themselves at me over the years. **4)** It happened before I met you and I haven’t thought of her since. You have less reason to be jealous of her than I would have to be jealous of your friend Mr Fawler, whom I wish well enough to hope that he has not donned a blue coat and jumped off a bridge.”

 

At this, she smiled briefly.

 

“But who am I, compared to such a glamorous woman?”

 

He sighed and stroked her cheek.

 

“Lady Vetinari, you are The One. Haven’t I promised in front of all the Disc to love you and none other?”

 

“But why, why me?”

 

“I might ask you the same question. And yet I am satisfied to think that my charms were irresistible to you. Do not frown at me, it suits you ill. You should be contented that I gave you my word and my hand.”

 

“Oh, well. I know. It’s petty of me to mind. I just keep thinking it is unfair that she should have such a splendid voice _and_ a piece of your heart. I am sorry. I shouldn’t bother you with my silly notions. Well, I didn’t want to say, but you are always so...so forceful.”

 

Vetinari released her and walked away to the door of the hut, where he stood with his back to her, looking out onto the ocean.

 

“Maybe it does matter,” he said after a while. “We are stripped here, Angelina, stripped right down to the marrow. We have no role, no status, no conventions. Only each other, and it would seem fit that we take a good look at the people we really are. Who are you without your flute and your friends and your test tubes? Who am I without my city?”

 

“Well, what do you think?” she asked when the silence had lasted longer than she felt comfortable with. He shrugged.

 

“I am trying to decide what I think. I look at you and I think there is not much change in you. You are as sincere and affectionate as ever. But myself? I don’t know. For decades I have been a man with a single purpose.”

 

“The city,” she said quietly.

 

“The city. I was brought up with the city on my mind. My family had been the most influential in Ankh-Morpork for generations, but for some reason or other, no Vetinari had ever been Patrician. My grandfather failed to get the guild leaders on his side. My father quite likely would have succeeded Windler, had he lived to see the day, but of course he didn’t. So it fell to me. I owed it to my father, and in a way to my brother, too. It was simply a responsibility at first, but over the years the Patricianship took over my entire being. Everything was always about the city, not about people. It is not that I didn’t care about people, but they were just that - a responsibility. I never seemed to know anybody who was important _to me_. When you came along and inched your way into the heart I allegedly don’t possess, it was a major challenge. I was concerned how I would manage to be a man of two purposes. But as it turned out, I would now be a man of no purpose at all, if it wasn’t for you.”

 

“We will get back,” she said softly, considering how tactful it was of him not to mention the fact that he wouldn’t be in his present predicament if it wasn’t for her. She had come up beside him, slipped her hand into his and leaned her head against his arm.

 

“That is your purpose now, to get back and pick up again from where you’ve left off.”

 

“You don’t really think it will be as easy as that? What will I find, if ever I get back? It has taken so long, Angelina, so long to get things working well. It could all be chaos by now. Even in the best case, if Vimes is in charge.  He will not betray the city, but he will make so many _mistakes_. And it could be a lot worse than Vimes. Patrician Boggis, Patrician Selachii. They would have no scruples to bend everything to their personal profit. Years and years of patient work would be destroyed in weeks.  Of course, there could be a King Carrot. In that case I am finished. The city might do well under King Carrot, at least for a while, but for Lord Vetinari there would be no return.”

 

“Would they not wait for you?”

 

“Not for very long.”

 

She looked out over the beach. The sun was setting leisurely behind the island. Palm trees cast long shadows that stretched as far as the water, but further out at sea light still glittered on the waves. Here and there along the shore, fires had been lit and the sound of singing and merry laughter drifted over to the hut. To the be Trobi, every night was a party.

 

“Perhaps,” said Angelina, “there doesn’t have to be a purpose. I think you would be wise not to define yourself either through me or the city. There must be something about you, something that makes you know who you are without reference to anything outside yourself. Try to think back to a time when your life wasn’t so entwined with the city. Think back to the boy who was so beloved by his mother and father.”

 

For an instant, she felt Vetinari’s body tense. Then he sighed.

 

“Ah, the unconditional love of our parents. But dear Angelina, one should not depend on that too much, because it dies with them and cannot be repeated.”

 

“And yet there is a love even greater than that of a parent for a child. I have seen it. The love of someone who has never known a world without you. A selfish love, perhaps, or so some might say, but nevertheless a love so complete and so unquestioning - such a someone would require nothing else of you than that you just _are._ ”

 

He made no reply. Fearing that she had said too much, she slipped away from him and strode down to the beach, along towards the far end of the bay. Friendly voices greeted her from the firesides, shouting invitations to join them for fried fish and palm wine, but she only waved in a vague manner and marched on. Soon she had left the village behind. Twilight surrounded her and the sounds of merriment faded away. She slowed her steps and sat down in the sand, which was still warm from the heat of the day. Scooping it up with her hands and letting it run through her fingers, she struggled against the darkness she felt welling up inside her.

 

It wasn’t true that she was unchanged. To be sure, she was cheerful and jolly, because that was the way of things on be Trobi, and she did what she could to make herself feel at ease. But an island was just a larger kind of boat, still surrounded by the ocean, with nowhere to run and no way home. Never before had she been so completely cut off from the lifeline that had nurtured her throughout all her years. Never before had she been at the mercy of someone whom she, as it was only now becoming apparent to her, hardly knew. And she depended on him, oh, how she depended on him!

 

“Mama,” she whispered, “Mama, Papa, I am still alive.”

 

It was fully dark when Vetinari found her. Seeing that she had fallen asleep, he extinguished his lamp and lay down in the sand beside her.

 

 **4)** **This included the sad case of Miss Heptarina Doublescotch, who threw herself at his lordship from a fourth floor window.**


	9. The scent of a woman

Captain Carrot stood to attention in front of Vimes’ desk. The commander looked at his reflection in the captain’s breastplate and wiped off a drop of tomato sauce from the corner of his mouth.

“I have compiled the list, sir. There are not many women in the city with connections to the Agatean Empire.”

Vimes received the sheet of paper and scanned it. There was the mistress of the Agatean Ambassador, the wives of six merchants involved in trade with Bes Pelargic, the mistress of one of them, two sisters of another, the mother of a semi-famous explorer and one of the language teachers at the Assassin’s Guild, who had led a field trip to the Counterweight Continent the previous year. Vimes returned the paper to Carrot. It shouldn’t take Sergeant Angua long to check up on a dozen suspects.

It didn’t take Sergeant Angua long. She set off with the list in her pocket and a polite smile on her lips. “Good afternoon, I am Sergeant Angua, City Watch, this is a routine investigation...” Her human nose was quite sufficient. There was no need to Change, if the scent had been strong enough for John Silver to notice. She made sure she got close enough to each lady to inhale her personal fragrance.

By the afternoon of the second day, she left the small house in Esoteric Street where the explorer resided. The call had been as futile as the others. She had visited houses, mansions and flats and had registered a stunning variety of smells. Roses, parsley, washing powder, cinnamon, hydrangea, incontinent cat, ink, silk, lavender, roast chicken, cloves, hyacinth, tea, coriander, shoe polish, sealing wax ... They had all filled her nostrils with dazzling swirls of colour. But no lilies. It was almost astonishing how the ladies all seemed to favour other flowers.

Angua made her way across the Water Bridge and towards Runecaster Way to see the last person on her list, the mistress of a spice merchant. If she didn’t find what she was looking for here, she would have to return empty-handed. Commander Vimes would not be pleased. He wouldn’t exactly go spare, but he’d make it clear that he was so, so put upon. Angua sighed. There was nothing she could do about that.

She crossed Mort Lake and continued along Water Street. Opposite the Bath House a woman passed her and she suddenly caught a whiff of the scent she had been rooting for. There was no mistaking the sweet and heavy, golden purple smell of lilies. Angua spun round and looked at the woman’s back. She was a tall woman. A very tall woman.

“Excuse me, madam!”

oOoOo

 

Being a meteorologist on the be Trobi islands would be so boring that it would reduce the average brain to cream cheese within a fortnight, which is why the be Trobi people, not given to cruelty, didn’t bother with weather forecasts. The sun shone anyway.

It shone on the mountains and the beaches, on the villages and the groves of palm trees. And it shone on a little hut close to the shore, where Havelock Vetinari sat in a basket chair on the veranda while Angelina Vetinari, nee Winter busied herself about the brick stove, which was set a few yards away from the building. **1)** It was just before lunch time.

Mealtimes on be Trobi were often challenging for the Vetinaris. The kindly islanders provided them daily with an eclectic assortment of raw ingredients, but it was up to them to turn these into something not only edible, but palatable. They were taking it in turns to make the meals. Neither of them had ever cooked before and their approaches reflected their respective mindsets. Angelina treated cooking as a form of alchemy. She mixed things together and hoped for a favourable reaction. Vetinari treated it as politics, coaxing rivalling and diverging elements into doing what suited his purposes. To Angelina's chagrin, he was more successful than she was. His Mango and Jellyfish Kedgeree had been a triumph, while her Grilled Rainbow Fish with Banana Sauce was Best Not Talked About. Still, she insisted in doing her share of the cooking, convinced that she would eventually find a way to tackle fish.

 

Vetinari was perusing a copy of the Ankh-Morpork Times that had found its way to be Trobi via Bes Pelargic. Taihameme had brought it into their hut like a trophy. It was two months old. Angelina had flinched when she had seen the headline. **RUST ON NEW STAMP**. Vetinari hadn’t batted an eyelid. He had made his way through the first three pages without any signs of emotion. However, suddenly he frowned.

“Listen to this, Angelina:

 **RUBBER GUILD BOUNCES BACK**

 **The Guild of Rubber Manufacturers welcomed Lord Rust’s decision to lift the ban on Hershebean raw rubber. The move came yesterday after a guild council meeting discussed the impact of the price of rubber products on specific businesses.**

 **Guild leader Xavier Snaigilla (53) applauded the verdict of the Acting Patrician. ‘The constraints imposed by Lord Vetinari over the last two years have been stifling for our business. There was never any evidence that Hershebean rubber caused harm to the public, and the expense of importing raw rubber from be Trobi has driven up the prices for rubber products unnecessarily. We are delighted that this unreasonable restriction has been dropped and have already contacted our business partners in Hersheba.’**

 **Mrs Rosie Palm of the Guild of Seamstresses also welcomed the move.”**

“So that’s why the ship didn’t come!”

“Indeed. And it won’t be worth waiting for another. Rubber is the only thing be Trobi has ever exported to Ankh-Morpork.”

“So we are stuck? But we must get away!” cried Angelina. “And we must make sure that the ban is reinstated, or the rubber pest will start all over again.”

“I’m afraid there is nothing we can do about that at the moment. But we are not stuck. I will go to Uyoiyahuoi again at the earliest opportunity and find us a ship. We’ll have to go home by a different route, via Klatch or Bes Pelargic.”

Angelina put the steaming plates on the table. Vetinari folded up the paper and seized his fork. They ate in silence for a few minutes. Angelina tried to spit out the fish bones as discreetly as possible. Eating whole fish didn’t come naturally to her. Filleting, however, even less so. Most fish looked tattered enough after she had gutted them. If fish bones insisted on being easier to remove after cooking, then Nature obviously meant it to be that way. Who was Woman to argue with Nature?

“So Lord Rust has your job now,” began Angelina as soon as she had conquered her fish. “Is that very bad?”

“It is. I only hope Vimes has punched him.”

“You mean ‘hasn’t.’ “

“I mean exactly what I say.”

They sat for a while in silence, listening to the roar of the surf. Vetinari picked up the paper again and began to do the crossword.

“When do you think we’ll be able to leave?” asked Angelina.

“In a week or so, I hope.”

“Oh, good!”

“You are so pleased? Won’t you be sad to leave your new friends?”

“Oh, well, it’s never nice to say good-bye. But somehow - well, they are very good people, of course, and we owe our lives to them and all that, but really, on the whole...”

She chewed her lip and played with a strand of hair. Vetinari just waited.

“On the whole, I am not sure how good they really are. I mean, truly, at heart. They are kind, they are cheerful, they are generous. But it’s easy to be generous if you have plenty of everything, and to be kind and cheerful if you have no worries in the world. I do wonder how good they would be if they were ever really pushed?  I’m not so sure if they possess the goodness that comes from renouncing badness.”

 “You think their goodness would be of a higher moral value if it were the result of weathered hardship and self-denial?”

“More to be trusted anyway.”

Vetinari laughed.

“I didn’t think that was funny,” said Angelina.

“Neither did I. I was only reminded of a little speech I once gave to the worthy commander. He is always striving to sort the good people from the bad, so I told him there were no good people, only bad people on opposite sides. He protested, of course, but I insisted that all I ever saw from my window was a great sea of evil.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Vimes is depressingly easy to wind up.”

“So that’s not what you truly believe?”

“Sweeping generalization - does that sound like me? No, it is as you say. One cannot tell with people until they are put to the test.”

“Yes.”

“Then, of course, one _knows_ that they are evil.”

Angelina looked at Vetinari with suspicion. He wasn’t exactly grinning, but she didn’t want him to think she was as gullible as Commander Vimes. Without another word, she disappeared into the hut and emerged after a while with her rolled up towel.

“You can do the dishes,” she said.

“You are going away.”

“Yes, I’m going for a little dive with Kamauri and the others.”

“I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

“Why not? The girls may not be paragons of morality, but they’re not going to do me any harm.”

“There are other creatures that might. Sharks, jellyfish, sea trolls. I would have a more pleasant day if I knew you kept out of their way. Besides, you are not supposed to go into the water straight after a meal.”

Angelina laughed.

“Listen to yourself, Havelock Vetinari! The most stoic man in the Sto Plains, excuse the pun, and here you are clucking like a hen over her chicks. You’re worse than my mother!”

“I am only being sensible.”

“And  I’m old enough to look after myself, don’t you worry!”

She blew him a kiss and ran down towards the beach. Vetinari shook his head and returned his attention to the crossword. It was maybe just as well he didn’t know that by now Angelina was diving with a knife between her teeth.

 **1)** **The be Trobi people were really keen on fire safety. They didn’t even allow heated arguments inside public buildings.**

 

 

oOoOo

However, right now the breakfast smells were the only cheerful thing in the room. The two candles were no match for the December darkness, and the fire was too small to drive away the cold and damp. Goldy felt depressed. A little cloud of gloom had been building up over her head for quite some time now. When Angelina had returned to Ankh-Morpork, Goldy had hoped that their sisterhood of three would be restored to all its former comfort. Marriage or not, three friends would always find a way to be together. Or so she had thought. She had been in for a disappointment.  Not only had Angelina disappeared from the face of the Disc, but Tvoolia was so engrossed with Henry that she hardly had any time for her remaining friend. The other boarder, Limette, had been suitably described by Henry as grumpy and pickle-faced and was doing nothing to raise Goldy’s spirits.

As if all that wasn’t bad enough, just a few weeks ago Goldy had Found Out. After two years of guarded conversations and circumspect looks, she had eventually decided that it was time for her to make a definite move. She had waited for an opportunity to get Lucky Haettenschweiler alone and had suggested a walk in Hyde Park after work. Her heart had been beating enough to make her beard tremble. Lucky had agreed, and Goldy had spent the remainder of her shift almost sick with excitement. At five o’clock they had set out together. They had barely reached the grassy haven of the park, when Lucky began: “There is something I really feel I should tell you, Goldy…” And for a few seconds, Goldy’s heart had been soaring like an albatross, only to crash land when Lucky had explained how she considered Goldy a very good friend, respected her greatly etc. She! SHE! Among all of Goldy’s feelings of dejection and shock and heartbreak, the most prominent one had been anger. Anger to have been led on for two years, anger that Lucky had not told her ages ago, before Goldy had built up her hopes and gambled away her heart in daydreams that took up almost every waking moment **2)**.

It was a calamity of cosmic dimensions, as far as Goldy was concerned. Unrequited love would have been delightful in comparison. Unrequited love would have allowed her to continue coveting the object of her dreams, to continue hoping for a change of heart. Because hearts, experience teaches us, can be changed, but the other thing…

And now this. This was the last straw. The Patrician had imposed a new Exceptional Tax, which only applied to any citizen more than six-and-a-half or less than four-and-a-half feet tall. It was very deliberately not called a Troll and Dwarf Tax, but everybody knew that that’s just what it was. Goldy was more than mildly miffed. With great satisfaction had she been adding to her little hoard of coins every week, and now there would be an end to that. No friends, no lover, no savings - what point was there in staying in the city? Mrs Scunner’s fried eggs weren’t a big enough incentive. Goldy placed the cutlery neatly on her empty plate and trudged off to work. She was beginning to consider the benefits of returning to Copperhead.

 **2)** **Apart from when she was thinking about her savings. Or her work. Obviously.** **Coming to think about it, she might have been considerably less upset about the whole affair, had she not been hanging out so much with these romantically inclined human females.**

 

oOoOo

As usual, Vetinari had been right and it only took a week or so before he returned from Uyoiyahuoi with the news that he had found a suitable ship. A galleon bound for Al Khali was to set sail within three days. Angelina was ecstatic and began packing straight away. She had spent a lot of time sewing, and since the be Trobi women were as generous with their fabric as with everything else, she now possessed more clothes than ever before in her life. Admittedly, these clothes would not be of much use in the climates she had previously spent her life in and was hoping to return to, and to make even half as many clothes suitable for the cooler climates the fabric would hardly have sufficed. However, since she had nothing else, she packed her bi-skin-knees and hip wraps with care and devotion. That evening, when they sat on their veranda after a dinner of Calamari Without Coconut Fritters, she beamed at Vetinari as if he was a knight in shining armour just appeared to save her from a  vile dragon.

“I am so glad we are leaving! I can’t wait to get home and let my poor parents know that I’m all right. I won’t even mind being at sea again.”

“I’m sure you won’t,” replied Vetinari.  “However, there is the small problem that we have no money. A Klatchian ship won’t take us for free by virtue of me being Lord Vetinari. I am afraid your rings and the watch will have to do as payment.”

 

“I think not,” said Angelina and cupped her hand around the watch.

 

“Angelina, I understand that you are attached to them, and I am sorry, but we have nothing else. In fact, we’ll be lucky if the captain will be satisfied with so little.”

 

She smiled at him wistfully.

 

“Pearls are quite valuable, aren’t they? Especially when they are strange colours? Don’t give me the eyebrow! Wait a minute.”

 

She disappeared into the hut and came back a minute later with a small woven raffia pouch, which she dropped into Vetinari’s lap. He opened it and poured the content into his palm. Intrigued, he looked at the pile of some forty pearls of different sizes and shapes. About two thirds of them were creamy white, the others were black or silvery grey, and two were an iridescent blue.

 

“Good heavens, Angelina, this is a small fortune. How did you come by them?”

 

“Kamauri showed me how to find them.”

 

“You have been _diving_ for pearls?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“There are rather a lot!”

 

“I found one or two most days. It is actually fairly easy. The oyster beds are in very shallow waters around here, only eight or nine feet, and of course I am a singer.”

 

“And that is useful because…?”

 

“Diaphragm control. Plenty of puff, you see?”

 

He looked again at the gleaming pile in his hand.

 

“ _Blue_ pearls? I admit that I do not have your connections in jewellery, but am I correct in assuming that they are exceptionally unusual?”

 

A smug grin appeared on Angelina’s face.

 

“They are fairly rare here and virtually unheard of anywhere else. **3)** It was just fluke that I found two. The be Trobi never sell them. Kamauri told me that every pearl diver keeps the blue pearls as a lucky charm. They all have their little treasure pile stashed away somewhere.”

 

“Would they mind if you took these away?”

 

“I don’t think so. I found them, they’re mine. I dare say they will be priceless to a Klatchian.”

 

Vetinari smiled.

 

“You are a resourceful woman, Lady Vetinari. Well, I am glad you came by them the regular way. If you were starting to cry tears that turn into pearls, I might have to drown you.”

 **3)** **Angelina was quite mistaken about that. Blue pearls are found in abundance on the small planet of Gyndolum, where the native Hastfagls use them as book marks.**

 

oOoOo

 

Vimes walked home with a brisker pace than usual. Anger was no stranger to him, but his current fury could have melted rocks. **4)** Finding out that Vetinari had not become the victim of a political intrigue and that the culprit was a jilted ex-lover had been bad enough. Of course he had secretly hoped that Rust would turn out to be at the bottom of it, but when Dame Gina Dulci had been arrested with all the ensuing drama that almost jeopardized the secrecy which Vimes considered appropriate in this case, she had left no doubt that her motivations were entirely private. Crime of passion! He spat onto the street.

But now things had got even worse. He should have seen it coming. Rust had pardoned her, he had bloody pardoned her! Because, so the new Patrician’s elucidation went, there was good reason to believe that the storm would have shipwrecked them even without any interference and that it was ultimately Vetinari’s own fault for taking such a risk. Secondly, said Rust, Madam Dulci should be granted clemency in view of her outstanding services to the Arts. Silver and Shafto were jailed under charges of gross negligence. Rust had seen no reason to be lenient with _them_. After all, they had only been in it for the money and had never made headlines with astonishing vocal accomplishments. Apparently Rust thought that the singer’s obsession with Vetinari constituted some kind of higher motive. Before he knew it, Vimes had chewed up almost his entire cigar. He tossed the butt away. It was still his city, but more than ever it resembled a seamstress.

He had reached the Brass Bridge and suddenly he knew what he had to do. It would hurt, but when had that ever stopped him? There was a danger that he would suffer some kind of mental breakdown if he didn’t hit somebody, and soon. He clenched his fist and punched one of the hippo statues square in the face.

 

 **4)** **Real rocks, of course. Vimes was no enthusiastic subscriber to political correctness, but he never offended where he didn’t need to.**   ****


	10. The Suleika

It was a mystery to Angelina how Vetinari kept track of time in the easy-going ambience of be Trobi, but he did. Thus they knew that it was a Tuesday, the 11th of Offle, when they made for the main island in a little fishing boat to board the _Suleika_ in the harbour of Uyoiyahuoi. Kamauri, Taihameme and the Alibi had insisted on accompanying them. The be Trobi, who had previously been telling them that surely there was no rush to go home, were now keen to see them leave, so that Vetinari could rectify the rubber situation. Not that they needed the money, but they didn’t like to see their gesture of goodwill to the international community rejected.

Ka’adburi Ba felt obliged by his position to treat them to a light lunch of fried sponge kebabs, and so they sat under the brightly coloured awnings outside a waterfront cafe and admired the ship. It was unlike any other ship Angelina had ever seen. Not only was it painted pure white, but it was also enormous. Three rows of portholes made it look more like a house than a seagoing vessel. The two higher rows were set back and surrounded by shaded arcades that seemed to run all around the ship. Here and there, little groups of green and white striped folding chairs were visible on those walkways. Angelina wondered what the ship’s cargo might be and why the sailors expected to have enough free time to justify such cosy seating arrangements. With a certain degree of relief, she came to the conclusion that a ship of these dimensions was bound to have some kind of satisfactory sanitary provision.

She was soon distracted by the bustle of the harbour. Uyoiyahuoi  was a major town by be Trobi standards, with brightly painted houses of two and even three storeys.  It surprised her to see such an international crowd in this place which was almost as far away as possible from what she had hitherto considered the hub of civilization. There were Agatean merchants in their fine silk garments, Klatchian sailors with dashing moustaches, dark-skinned travellers from Howandaland wandering along the quay in little chattering groups. Be Trobi women hurried along the streets with baskets full of fruit, eyed critically by the sponge-eating pygmies, who were offering their coral crafted souvenirs in little stalls placed strategically at all the narrowest points of the dock.

Before she knew it, a group of be Trobi drummers gave the signal that it was time to board. They gathered their luggage about them and bowed their heads to receive the parting gifts from their friends: garlands of sweet-smelling flowers. In eloquent and dignified words, Vetinari expressed their thanks to the Alibi and the two women. Angelina hugged Kamauri and Taihameme and cordially shook Ka’adburi Ba’s hand. She noted with interest that they were not the only passengers. About a dozen middle-aged Agatean couples boarded with them, attired in bright and clashing colours and dragging enormous suitcases. A pale and skinny young man in the garb of an Omnian priest also ascended the gangway. It dawned on her that the folding chairs and the many portholes were not for the benefit of the crew.

It was about two o’clock when Vetinari and Angelina were leaning on the rail and waving - he decorously, she with warmth and a tear in her eye - to their friends on the quay. The ship pulled out of the harbour in a rain of streamers and to the tune of “The Silver Albatross” rendered by a group of well-meaning be Trobi musicians on an assortment of conch shells. They stood, ready to watch the hospitable islands shrink away behind them, but before long they found themselves addressed thus:

“Good afternoon, sir, madam, and welcome on board the _Suleika_. My name is Mahmut, and I will be your cabin steward on this voyage. These are your cabin keys, please return them to the reception desk on deck 2 whenever you go on excursions and before you finally disembark from the ship. Refreshments will be served on deck 1 from three-thirty, and there will be clay-pigeon shooting on the starboard side all afternoon. The Nausicaa Bar will open at seven o’clock. Is there anything else I can do for your present convenience?”

This speech caused Angelina no small degree of confusion, but Vetinari replied without hesitation.

“We’ll have two coffees served in our cabin in half an hour, and my wife will very much appreciate it if you have any figgins.”

Angelina looked at Vetinari with heartfelt gratitude. If they had figgins, she really wouldn’t mind the sea voyage.

 

oOoOo

 

He is watching the shadows nervously. They are moving, drifting in and out of focus. The buildings are unfamiliar, though he knows he is on his way home. There is something important he has to do, but he cannot remember what. He feels he needs to hurry, all will be resolved once he reaches the end of the street. The street stretches on and on; he walks, but his steps are getting slower. If only he could remember what it is he has to do so urgently. Or is it something he has to get away from? He turns around and looks at shifting shapes, blurred outlines of strange houses. The ground tilts, gives way under his feet and he scrambles frantically backwards, along the wall of a looming building. A figure rises from a doorway in front of him, clad in flowing black robes, and puts a naked blade against his throat...

Lord Rust awoke in a puddle of sweat. **1)** It took him a minute or two to reassure himself of his surroundings and shake off the leaden terror of the dream. He crept out of bed and tiptoed to the door. A sigh of relief escaped him when he found it locked, then he slunk over to the window, which he also discovered to be fastened  and secure.  With trembling fingers he lit his bedside candle. He shone the light into every dark corner, behind the curtains, under the bed. He opened the wardrobe and looked at nothing but his clothes staring back at him.

Eventually, he extinguished the light and went back to bed. He lay on his back and stared into the dark, straining his ears to make out the strangely amplified noises of the night. Was that the floorboards creaking? A mouse scurrying? Was there a scraping sound at the window? His heart was still beating faster than it should.

An hour later he was still lying wide awake. It had been like this almost every night since that terrible attack by the mysterious stranger. Harrowing nightmares would wake him, and then he would spend the small hours clutching his sheets, too petrified to venture into the land of nod again.  He was worn out with lack of sleep and exhausted from fear. The challenges of his days were fripperies compared to his nightly tribulations.

Lord Rust sat up in bed. This was no life, and suddenly it occurred to him that he didn’t have to be here. In a week’s time the legal waiting period would be over and Vetinari could be declared dead. It was some time ago now that Rust had stopped looking forward to this event and the full Patrician’s title which was bound to follow. Now he realized that he wanted nothing more than be rid of the job. He would tell his wife first thing in the morning. When Vetinari was declared dead, he would step down from office, and then he could just go home. Let somebody else deal with this blooming city and assassins in the bedroom.

He sank back into his pillows and slept like a baby. **2)**

 **1)** **Hyperbole again.**

 **2)** **That is, he woke up every hour, screaming.**

oOoOo

 

Under a blue, blue sky reflected by a blue, blue sea, the _Suleika_ was gliding ever widdershins. The Vetinaris lay reclining in their deck chairs on the port side. Angelina was humming a vague little tune and scribbled on a postcard. Prolific and intimate as her correspondence with her sister had always been, faced with this piece of card she struggled to find something to write. **3)** Eventually, with much frowning and chewing of the pencil, she managed: ****

 **Dear Cassandra,**

 **I hope this will reach you and relieve you from any worry you might have on my account. Please tell mother and father that Havelock and I are quite well. We have spent a very interesting time on the be Trobi Islands and are now on board a very strange ship bound for Klatch. It is more like a floating tavern. I have tried to draw a picture for you on the back. The food does not agree with me, but the weather continues fine.**

 **Love**

 **Lina**

Vetinari had acquired a small selection of books from the ship’s miniscule library. There were few volumes, and even fewer in Morporkian. He had left “Lacemaking Through the Ages” on the shelf on the basis that he already knew it. “Hurricane of Passion” and “1001 Home Improvement Projects” hadn’t excited his interest, either, so he was now absorbed in “A Little History of Pumice Stones”.

Around midday, they noticed that all the sailors were busy applying something to their ears. After an announcement made in Agatean, the other passengers withdrew to their cabins. Only the Omnian priest remained and seemed occupied with his ears. Mahmut approached them and handed them a piece of beeswax each.

“You have to stick this into your ears, if you want to stay on deck, sir,” he explained. Vetinari closed his book.

“Would you care to explain why?”

“Well, sir, we’re coming up to the island of the singing bird-women. You’ve to plug up your ears, or the beauty of their song will drive you to madness and you will throw yourselves into the sea.”

“You’ve seen this happen, Mahmut?”

“No, sir, we’ve always had our beeswax handy. But I’ve seen them plenty times when we sailed by, and there’s the wreckage of the ships of those poor souls who didn’t know any better. They lure them towards the rocks, you see, with their enchanting songs.”

“Sirens. How interesting,” murmured Vetinari and exchanged glances with Angelina. He handed the beeswax back to the sailor, and she did likewise. “Mahmut, the lady and I would like to hear the bird-women sing. We are craving a cultural experience.”

“Well, sir, in that case we’ll have to tie you to the mast. That’s Health and Safety Regulations.”

“You will do no such thing, Mahmut. We will listen to these mythic creatures in full possession of our limbs.”

Mahmut turned as pale as his weather-beaten skin would allow and shook his head.

“No, you mustn’t, sir! You will lose your mind, you surely will!”

Meanwhile, their conversation had attracted the captain’s attention. He sauntered over and exchanged a few sentences with Mahmut. Then he turned to Vetinari and addressed a torrent of Klatchian words to him. His lordship smiled calmly.

“And yet I am unmoved. Mahmut, thank Captain Al Batros for his concern, but we will do as I proposed. Since we have paid our passage, I dare say it will be ultimately of no concern to you whether we jump overboard or not.”

Mahmut looked as if he was going to make further objections, but the island was now visible on the horizon, so he had to fit the wax into his own ears and attend to his duties. He cast a sorrowful look at Angelina, who gave him a friendly wave and then turned her attention to the Sirens’ rock. It was another quarter of an hour before they were able to discern the first faint fragments of sound. Soon the songs grew louder and clearer. The sailors went about their tasks, from time to time furtively looking over to the island and back at the Vetinaris, who sat in their seats with expressions of great concentration. After a while, Vetinari leaned towards Angelina and whispered:

“It would appear that the local sailors have no very great skills in musical appreciation.”

She nodded. “Yes. The soprano certainly sounds strained in the upper range. Very poor diaphragm control. I don’t think she would even get into the chorus at the opera.”

“Oh, they let all sorts of people into the chorus, I believe. But did you hear that? The alto was clearly flat on that diminished fifth.”

“Oh, well, the tritone ... diabolus in musica ... Still, if they are supposed to be _enchanting_ singers, one would have expected a bit more. I really can’t say I’m impressed. Too much vibrato from the alto for my taste, I would say even bordering on tremolo.”

“Good grief, there’s the soprano out of key, too!”

Angelina gave a sad shake of her head. “You know what it is? Great voices wasted by lack of training.”

“Hardly surprising if one sits on a rock in the middle of the ocean.”

“But what a shame. A bit of voice work and the basics of harmonic progression - ”

“You won’t be able to teach them, Angelina. Don’t even start to think up a training programme for them.”

As the ship sailed past the rocks, they tried to get a glimpse of the Sirens, but they were too far away. Soon afterwards, the song faded and the sailors removed their ear plugs. Mahmut came over and looked at them in wonder. Vetinari met his gaze with equanimity.

“I’ve never been a great connoisseur of performed music,” he said.

Angelina saw Mahmut’s jaw drop. She shrugged her shoulders and smiled at him.

“We do have a very good opera house in Ankh-Morpork, you know. And I’m sorry to tell you that people in the city wouldn’t pay to hear these bird women. I assume the other passengers have been here before and had no desire to hear them again?”

At this point, Mahmut’s brain shut down and he walked away shaking his head.

 

 **3)** **This affliction is widely spread throughout the multiverse and sometimes referred to as Postcard Block.**

 

 oOoOo

 

The High Energy Magic Building had never seen such an illustrious assembly before. A delegation of senior priests ostensibly not lead by Hughnon Ridcully occupied the front bench of the makeshift auditorium facing the large, round screen. Behind them, with expressions ranging from grave importance to sheer sensationalism, were the major aristocrats and the principal guild leaders. A little bit aside and at an angle to the benches, allowing him full view of both the omniscope and everybody present, a single armchair had been placed for Lord Rust. The Acting Patrician looked somewhat constipated. William de Worde sat in a corner, with his notebook ready, next to Henry Winter, who was pale and quiet. Mr Slant had set up a provisional desk near the door. The Not-Quite-Duke-of-Ankh-Anymore leaned against the opposite wall, scanning the distinguished congregation with the appearance of somebody who is being forced to eat his own boot. Assorted wizards floated about the room. **4)** Archchancellor Ridcully rubbed his hands.

“Well, well, well, here we are. Welcome to Unseen University. I’m sure we all know each other. It seems a bit of a morbid thing to me, what we are about to do today, but a necessary one. Hmmm. Let’s get it over and done with then, shall we? Doctor Turnipseed?”

Adrian Turnipseed stood up and straightened his robe. Promotion had made him respectable **5)**   and he had conveniently forgotten that he had once been known as Big Mad Drongo. With an air of quiet importance, he pushed his spectacles up his nose with his middle finger.

“The omniscope is prepared, Archchancellor. We have acquired several items of equipment from the _Heavenly Mary_ , which had been left behind in Limonum. They should allow Hex to get a lock on the boat.”

He stepped aside and picked up a couple of lobster-pots and a rope, which he inserted into a glass box on top of Hex’s main structure. The box was connected to glass tubes on either side and after the turning of a lever was immediately invaded by a large numbers of ants. Ponder Stibbons adjusted various contraptions on the omniscope and cast a critical look at the glass tubes.

“We’re just waiting for a signal now.”

All eyes in the room were turned towards the dark screen. After a while, the omniscope flickered and slowly came into focus, showing an image of the _Heavenly Mary_ moving along in calm waters. Lord and Lady Vetinari were seen sitting at the prow eating sandwiches. Ponder Stibbons consulted the latest output of scribbles from Hex’s mechanical quill.

 “That was the day after the storm. Fast forward a bit.”

Adrian Turnipseed, who operated the omniscope by means of a thin and narrow black box, pressed a couple of buttons. The picture on the screen was distorted into a whizzing turmoil of black and white stripes, before it settled again into a new scene. Lady Vetinari was seen in a state of undress, pouring water over her head from a ceramic dish. Turnipseed blushed and pressed the button again. The picture flickered away. When it stopped next, the audience perceived the couple busy erecting Vetinari’s black robe on a spar and sheltering under it from a blistering sun.

“That was on the 23rd of Sektober,” said Stibbons, referring to the strip of paper.

Once again, the omniscope spun forward. Vimes held his breath and felt his fists clench inside his pockets. If they had had survived for that long, there was no telling what ploys Vetinari might have come up with. The bastard had this talent for staying alive. He glanced at Rust. The worried expression on the man’s face showed that the Acting Patrician was thinking along the same lines.

The next scene swam into focus. Everybody strained their eyes, since the boat was drifting in the dim light of a waning moon. The picture flickered and jumped about in the frame. Glimpses of the two figures in daylight alternated with images of the nightly scene.

“I am sorry,” said Ponder Stibbons. “The centrifugal compensator doesn’t appear to be working properly and we are getting the Gustavii Effect. The boat must be very close to the Rim now, where the Disc turns much faster than here, because we are nearer the Hub. Normally the omniscope can counteract this effect by means of a perpendicular rotation regulator, but I believe thaumic interferences are obstructing the flux cylinder.”

Eventually, the picture settled. The audience could barely make out the robe-turned-sunshade. The horizon was curiously illuminated by a silvery haze, which drew closer as they watched. A star-dotted sky filled more and more of the picture until the boat, on reaching the silvery haze, titled forward and disappeared. The screen went blank, flickered, and cleared again. The sight now revealed was as incredible as it was wonderful. The boat was seen falling down a tremendous waterfall, then the picture swept backwards to show a broader view. The more impressionable people in the audience gasped. There was a giant flat ear, attached to an even larger head, which in turn was only part of a truly galactic elephant. The boat appeared as a tiny dot, racing down a colossal leg. Then the star turtle came into view, its gargantuan body crisply outlined against the dark, star-sprinkled space. The omniscope homed in on the boat again, capturing its last few moments of free fall and the spectacular sight of it shattering on the turtle’s shell.

For a few seconds, nobody spoke. Then Rincewind broke the silence.

“They have fallen over the edge,” he said, needlessly.

“Well, ladies and gentlemen, I think that settles it.” Lord Downey rose from his seat and turned towards the zombie. “I am sure, Mr Slant, that this will be considered sufficient evidence to have them declared dead?”

The grey face of the lawyer was expressionless. He cleared his throat and gave a little cough, which dislocated a silver-winged moth. From his briefcase, he pulled some documents.

“It would appear so, my lord. I shall require the signatures of six witnesses. If you would be so good, Archchancellor...”

The document was duly signed by both Ridcully brothers, Downey, Rust, Selachii and the Dean. When he was quite sure that nobody was going to ask him, Vimes left as quickly as he could. He had no desire to hear any more of Henry Winter’s sobbing.

 

 **4)** **Metaphorically speaking. The average wizard is of a stature that defeats most levitation spells.**

 **5)** **For a given value of “respect”.**


	11. Classic Tales

Life on board the _Suleika_ was leisurely and monotonous, and Angelina soon lost count of the days again. None of the Agateans spoke Morporkian and thus their social intercourse was limited to polite nods at mealtimes and whenever one happened upon another on deck. Of the crew only Mahmut knew their language, and his habits of professional servitude made a stimulating conversation with him nigh impossible. Angelina had once entered into a bit of small talk with Reverend Oats, the Omnian priest, but it had quickly escalated into a heated debate on the nature of evil, and since then she had carefully restricted her interactions with him to insipid remarks about the weather.

The weather, however, offered little in the way of variety, and after a few days she became tired of trying to find yet another way of saying what a fine day it was again. Vetinari on the other hand sought out the priest and involved him in lengthy debates, leaving the poor man looking more nervous after each encounter. Left to her own devices, Angelina spent much time being tremendously bored. She cared little for the game of Crossing Out Numbers On A Square Card, she detested the performances of the ship’s belly dancer and she reflected sadly on the fact that she hadn’t laid her fingers on a musical instrument in months. Her only occupation was altering her island couture into something more suitable for wearing in a mahogany panelled dining room.

It was therefore welcome news when Mahmut told them that the ship was expected to reach the island of Mithos during the course of the following morning and that the passengers would have the opportunity for an excursion. Angelina and Vetinari were taken ashore in the first boat. The harbour was small and the little settlement sleepy and dull in comparison to the bustle of Uyoiyahuoi. Whitewashed mud bricks formed the houses, roofed with bundles of raffia. When the passengers alighted, a group of children surrounded them and eyed them with curiosity. Angelina tried not to stare. Each child had a single eye in the middle of the forehead.

On the path that lead past the houses stood a row of men holding donkeys. Some women hurried past with clay pots balanced on their heads. Elderly men and women were sitting on wooden benches in front of the houses. Each and every one of them had the single eye.

“My goodness, they’re all cyclopses,” whispered Angelina to Vetinari.

“It is ‘cyclopes’, I believe,” he answered.

The two Agatean couples who had come ashore in the same boat approached the donkey drivers, iconographs ready. Gold coins glinted. The ladies each mounted a donkey, while their husbands beckoned the cyclopes to pose beside their wives. Click, click went the iconographs. Then the gentlemen clambered onto their mounts and the whole group set off.

Angelina and Vetinari exchanged a brief glance. They strode up the path, passed the donkey drivers with a nod and moved swiftly onwards. The children followed them for a while, but turned back to the shore when they noticed the next boat landing on the beach.

The path led past the houses and up a slope into a ticket of olive trees. They plunged into the welcome shade and made their way steadily uphill. After a while, the trees receded and the path wound on over stony ground. The hills were ragged and reflected the heat of the sun. Dark-green, dusty shrubs emanated spicy scents. Cicadas chirped. Angelina panted. Not far from a low cliff the path split and they halted.

When they looked back, they saw that they had climbed some six or seven hundred feet above the sea. Back down in the harbour, the _Suleika_ lay like some shiny leviathan. The ocean was as blue as blue can be. It was a uniform colour that can get fairly grating after a while, at least if one is used to the infinite variety of shades of grey that a rainy city offers.

“I’m too hot,” said Angelina.

“Let’s take the path to the right. It should be shady between those rocks.”

A tiny trickle of a burn came down from a small gorge. They followed its course further uphill, grateful for the somewhat cooler air. Rocks towered up on either side, and soon the sky was nothing but a strip of blue overhead. The gorge led them out onto a ledge overlooking the sea, and from there they went further into the barren, craggy hills. After clambering about for nearly two hours they came to a cave that opened up in the rock face to their left. There was no mistaking that this was a dwelling of sorts. Even if it hadn’t been for the clay tablet at the entrance with the word _Sunnyside_ carved in it, the pile of firewood and the clothes line would have been a dead give-away.

“Greetings, travellers!” came a voice from within the cave. A moment later, an elderly Cyclops appeared in the entrance. He wore a grubby loincloth, the hygienic state of which was best not investigated, and a black patch over his single eye, which made him look more than just a little pathetic.

“Good afternoon,” replied Vetinari. “You speak Morporkian?”

The cyclops made a dismissive gesture. “Oh, everybody knows Morporkian in these parts.”

“How did you know we were not Agateans?”

“A lucky guess?” The cyclops shrugged. “I am Polymer. I take it you came on the ship?”

“We did,” said Angelina.

“Holiday of a lifetime, eh? You probably wonder what happened to my eye?”

“Well...” Angelina looked at Vetinari. She had a vague feeling that she knew what the answer to that question was.

“Group of hooligans it was, ages ago. I was expecting some friends round that day, and I had set up the buffet and all and then nipped down to the village to get some Seepo. Not much point in having a party without something to raise the spirit, eh? Well, I got the Seepo and when I came back, these men were sitting here at the table, bold as brass, eating all the food! They’d even taken the piglet off the spit and carved it up. Well, you can imagine that I gave them a piece of my mind. Told them how abominably rude their behaviour was and that their mothers would be ashamed of them. I said I would keep them there until my friends arrived and then they could apologize to them and to me. But before I had even finished my sentence, this one guy took the spit and drove it straight into my eye. Straight in!”

“Shocking!” said Angelina.

“Tell me about it,” replied Polymer. “There I was, blinded, screaming in pain, and they just made off and, out of sheer spite, drove all my sheep away, too.”

“Did you not follow then?”

“Follow them? In the state I was? I was glad when my friends came at last and patched me up. I was in bed three weeks before I felt I could get up again. The wound got infected and was oozing like mad, and my friend Stereos had to change the dressing about five times a day. I was in agony, I’m telling you. Would you like to see the scar?”

He lifted a hand to his eye-patch.

“No, thanks,” said Angelina quickly. “I am sorry to hear you have had such a dreadful trauma.”

“Right you are. Terrible business it was. We’ve had problems with gatecrashers here before, but that really took the biscuit.”

“And have you done nothing to avenge yourself?”

“Oh, I would have pressed charges against him,” said the Cyclops, “but we haven’t been able to find out his address. He said his name was Outis, and there are five pages worth of Outises in the directory.”

“Ah, yes,” said Vetinari. “A well appointed police force would have served you well in this matter. I believe you will find that the real name of the perpetrator is Lavaeolus.”

“How do you know?”

“Just an educated guess. I doubt you will be able to apprehend him after all this time, though.”

“Blast! If I could only sue him for damages! I think if I got a decent sum for compensation, I could start my own business. A little taverna down by the harbour. I make a spectacular tzatziki with lemon juice and thyme. In fact, I have some here now, would you like to try it?”

“I believe it is time we left,” said Vetinari. “We are hours away from the harbour. It would be calamitous if we missed the ship.”

“Oh, no hurry. You just take that path on the left here, it takes you down in fifteen minutes!”

They thanked Polymer for the directions, but took their leave nevertheless. The sun was setting in a furore of tacky colours, when they returned to the ship.

“Did you have a pleasant time?” asked Mahmut.

“It was … interesting,” replied Angelina.

“The mosaics in the Temple of Libertina are rather fine, aren’t they?”

“Oh,” said Angelina. “We didn’t know about them. We just went for a walk and met this old, blind Cyclops.”

“Old Polymer? Did he tell you how he lost his eye?”

“In great detail,” replied Vetinari.

“Yes,” said Mahmut, “he tells that story to anyone who will listen.”

“You mean it’s not true?” Angelina asked.

“Who knows? I hope you didn’t try his tzatziki.”

“No, we didn’t. Why, what’s wrong with it?”

Mahmut snorted. “Tzatziki with lemon juice and thyme? Have you ever _heard_ such a thing!”

“Not until this afternoon,” said Vetinari. “Thank you for telling us about the temple, Mahmut. May I suggest that another time you inform us of such attractions before the excursion? My wife and I will retire to our cabin now. We’ve had a rather taxing day.”

 

oOoOo

The youngest Mrs Winter sat in her newly furnished parlour and put the finishing touches on a green silk blouse that would complement her dark skin tone. She had shown Goldy around the house, an occasion to which she had been looking forward to, but under the current circumstances neither of them had been in the mood to take much joy in domestic arrangements. Now Goldy sat in an armchair by the fireside with her feet dangling and her face pinched and tense.

Tvoolia sighed and wished Goldy’s first visit could have occurred on a more auspicious day. She took such pride in her home, not the least because she had been instrumental in securing its comfort. Henry had been anxious about money, after spending such a substantial sum on the search for Angelina. He had feared that they would have to delay the wedding after all, unless he could get some more or at least more lucrative contracts. Tvoolia had recoiled from this notion, which went directly against her plan to persuade him to retire from active service and take up a teaching post with the Guild.

Fortunately, she had been able to contribute to their household not only with her self-made curtains, bed spreads and table cloths, but also with her sizeable nest egg. Tvoolia had been among the first to open a bank account when Mr Lipwig invited people to do so. Heeding the advice of that nice Mrs Bent, Miss Drapes as was, she had put by a regular sum. Her skills as a dressmaker had for some time seen her rise steadily in her profession and procure a good income, and since it had become known that she had been commissioned to make the dress for the Vetinari wedding, the demand for her services had soared. His lordship had also paid her handsomely, and thus it was that Tvoolia could furnish her house as much with the proceeds of her own labour as with her husband’s tainted income.

“How is it supposed to work anyway?” asked Goldy.

“I’m not sure. I think they have a kind of tracking device attached to this omniscope. That way, it doesn’t just show any old thing, but exactly the thing they’re looking for. They’ll find out precisely what happened. Henry says he wouldn’t accept to have her declared ... he wouldn’t accept it without proof. Apparently Commander Vimes says the same.”

“Quite right to. You can’t allow for them to be declared dead, just because that suits some people. I’m amazed the waiting period is so short anyway.”

“Mr Slant had to look it up,” said Tvoolia. “Henry says he wouldn’t trust Mr Slant as far as he could throw him.”

“Neither would I, though I bet I could throw him further than Henry could.”

Tvoolia didn’t laugh.

“It’s just so hard to imagine how they could still be alive. After all these weeks...”

“I’ve looked at a map,” said Goldy. “Just off the coast off Limonum there is a very strong current that leads rimwards out of the Circle Sea. There are a lot of islands in the Rim Ocean. I think it would actually be hard to miss them.”

“I know.” Tvoolia bit off the thread and put the finished blouse aside. “That’s what Henry keeps saying. But I’m not so sure. Well, I’ll be glad when he’s back. It’s the uncertainty that is the worst.”

“You are wrong,” said a voice from the door. They looked around. Henry stood there, grey-faced, red-eyed, his black silk cape hanging down limply like the skin of a dead bat. “The worst thing is certainty.”

 

oOoOo

 

To his own surprise, Lord Vetinari enjoyed the sea voyage. Every morning he went for a brisk walk around deck 2 and afterwards spent an hour in his cabin working on his book.  Then he woke Angelina and they went to the Nausicaa Bar for breakfast. Cook boiled the eggs just as he liked them, a gentle breeze cooled his brow and nobody bothered him. The Agatean couples were friendly, calm and, as he had noted with gratitude, not given to excessive laughter. He would chat with Angelina until lunchtime and sit most of the afternoon with Reverend Oats in the library, debating matters of doctrinal importance. He reckoned by the end of a fortnight he’d have turned the man into an atheist. Unfortunately, the Reverend was way too easy to beat at clay-pigeon shooting, because he couldn’t hold the crossbow steady enough, but he had a decent enough aim at shuffleboard. Vetinari had let him win a couple of times, to stop him from moping. In the evenings everybody attended the on-board entertainment, which was invariably atrocious, but precisely for that reason provided a source of considerable amusement. Once Angelina was asleep, he went back to his manuscript.

He felt more like himself now that they were on their way home. The enforced idleness of his unplanned honeymoon had not agreed with him, nor had his vivid imagination of what might be going on in his city improved his spirits. The necessity to share at least some of his thoughts with his wife was a mixed blessing. Her presence was, as ever, a comfort to him, but she believed in such silly notions like: that it did one good to get things off one’s chest. They hadn’t been talking about precarious issues since that awkward day when they had ended up sleeping on the beach. Still, he was grateful to Angelina for reminding him that his self-worth didn’t depend on Ankh-Morpork. There had been a time in his life, when he hadn’t been Patrician, and there might even come a time again, when he wouldn’t be. **1)** But he had always been Havelock, though few people called him by that name. At least his wife was beginning to get used to that now.

It still astonished him from time to time that he _had_ a wife. A wife wasn’t something he had ever expected to acquire, and as a rational man he couldn’t approve of it. Yet she had grown on him so gradually that he had never taken the trouble to think about her rationally until he had realized that he couldn’t do without her. No, that wasn’t true. He could do without her, obviously. It was just that he didn’t want to, and he was a man who was ultimately used to getting exactly what he wanted.

Well, he had got what he wanted and contrary to certain truisms, he liked it. Having Angelina around was like eating chocolate **2)**  without getting fat. Coming to think of it, he wished he knew where she was. He hadn’t seen her since breakfast, and it was nearly noon.

He found her in the Nausicaa Bar. She didn’t notice him standing in the doorway, because she had her eyes closed in concentration. The two spotty youths who were the _Suleika’s_ sad excuse for a band stood next to her sheepishly. One of them had his hands on his drum and tapped it occasionally, but the other looked on empty-handed, for Angelina held his generic Klatchian string instrument and strummed it with marginally more success than he normally did. And she sang.

With a smile of satisfaction, Vetinari withdrew. He wouldn’t pay to hear her, either, but it pleased him to know that his wife could accurately pitch a diminished fifth.

 **1)** **Not now, though, now he was merely sitting out for a couple of dances.**

 **2)** **At least like what Vetinari imagined eating chocolate felt like to other people. He himself had never developed a sweet tooth.**

 

 

oOoOo

 

It was eight in the morning and one of those infrequent days when the whole Vimes family was assembled at the breakfast table. Sybil scraped butter on a slice of only slightly burnt toast and Vimes glared at his coffee as if it was a criminal. There was no bacon, but half a grapefruit for each adult. Young Sam sat on his special chair, with one hand clutching his beloved cuddly hedgehog **1)** , with the other shovelling porridge into his mouth with the devotion only a three-year-old can muster.

“It is a jolly good thing that Ronnie gave up the post,” remarked Sybil. “He’s been a fearful oik and if he hadn’t stepped down, I’m sure someone would have given him a little poke.”

With his porridge bowl empty, Young Sam turned his attention to other matters.

“Daddy, why did the funny man poke the big man’s eye out?”

Sybil’s head rose sharply.

“Sam, have you been telling him about your work again?”

“No, dear.”

“But he - “

“Why, Daddy?”

“It was just something in a book I read to him.”

Where Is My Cow? had fallen out of favour with Young Sam some time ago, and the little boy was now eager for more adventurous reading material. As demand outgrew the picture books available, Vimes had begun to pick volumes from higher up in the book case.

“What kind of book would that be, dear?”

“Was the big man naughty, Daddy?”

“No, Sam, the funny man was naughty. It’s called Tales Of The Classical World. It’s educational,” said Vimes doggedly. “It’s all about a guy called Lavaeolus and his travels - “

“I know the book, Sam. That it’s hardly appropriate reading for a three-year-old.”

“He likes it! Don’t you, Sam?”

“Daddy, you arrest the funny man?”

“No, Sam. Anyway, he knows it’s not real. And worse things happen in the Shades.”

“Daddy, can the big man still see anymore?”

“How do you know he knows it’s not real?”

“Daddy, can he see anymore?”

“Because I told him so. No, Sam, he can’t, that was his only eye. That’s to teach you always to be extra careful with anything you’ve only got one off. I told you it was educational.”

“I only have one Hedgehog.”

“That is true, Sam. No, Sam, I don’t think violence is educational, even if it’s mythological.”

“There you go, make sure you watch it carefully. It seems educational enough to me.”

“Can I take him to the park, Mummy?”

“Well, I’m sure you know best. Yes, put him into your little pram. Do you think Mr Lipwig will be elected?”

“Can Teddy come, too?”

“He’s too flashy. If you ask Purity nicely. People won’t trust him.”

“I don’t think they ever trusted Havelock. He’ll need to put his little red coat on.”

“They’d trust him even less. I didn’t know he had a red coat?”

“Pu’ity put it in the wash.”

“Who else is there? It’s not Sam’s, it’s Teddy’s.”

“There’s Rabbit, can Rabbit come, too?”

“None who I’d care to see in the Oblong Office. No, two’s enough.”

“Oh, I think Rabbit could go. It’ll be all over the papers tomorrow, I suppose.”

“When do we go?”

“Possibly tonight. They will probably bring out a special edition. As soon as Purity comes back from the shops.”

“But Teddy doesn’t have his coat.”

Fortunately, Purity arrived back at this precise moment and took Young Sam away, thus preventing a lamentable brain melt-down in author and readers. In a rather resigned manner, Vimes and Sybil continued their conversation on the prospect of a new Patrician, interrupted briefly when Young Sam rushed in to pick up Hedgehog. Soon afterwards Vimes left for the watch house, his expression even grimmer than usual.

 

 **3)** **In vain had Vimes pointed out that hedgehogs were, by default, not cuddly. Sybil has insisted that it was a most charming little toy, and besides, it was a present from Brenda.**


	12. Concertina, please!

Angelina and Vetinari stood and watched the ship gliding into Queenston harbour. The town displayed the standard fittings of blue sea, blue sky, golden beach and lush green vegetation, and in addition to that the houses were painted red, yellow, white and a powdery blue.

“Why on the Disc are they called the Brown Islands?” asked Angelina.

“They are named after the explorer Serendipity Brown,” replied Vetinari. “The indigenous population calls them _Terranostra,_ which means _home._ Mahmut, please list the local visitor attractions.”

“The Governor’s Palace is thought to be a fine piece of architecture, sir. Your wife might enjoy the Botanic Gardens.  And there is the Gallery of Contemporary Art.”

“Contemporary to what?”

“Just generally contemporary, I think.”

“We’ll give that a miss,” decreed Vetinari.

“Will we?” asked Angelina.

“Definitely so. Is there anything else, Mahmut?”

“Most visitors wind up in the Calypso Bar. The musical entertainment there is quite brilliant. I would like to caution you, though, not to stay too long. Some people find it almost impossible to leave the place again. There’s a rumour about a man who stayed in there for a whole seven years.”

A weary expression of understanding rippled over Vetinari’s face. “Let me guess,” he said. “The man’s name was Lavaeolus?”

“I couldn’t say,” replied Mahmut. “It must have been ages ago.”

“Yes, I guessed that much.”

“Well, do not worry about us, Mahmut,” said Angelina. “Remember, we weren’t all that impressed by your last musical recommendation.”

They proceeded down the gangway with moderate enthusiasm. Queenston was a good deal closer to civilization than any other port of call on their journey had been. The roads were paved, the shops well stocked and the population adequately clothed. Angelina and Vetinari set off to savour these commodities.

By the time the sun was setting, they had dutifully looked at the Governor’s Palace **1)** , strolled along the beach and spent a couple of their remaining pearls on clothes which were of a uniform colour and entirely without patterns. The shopkeeper had given them a pile of copper coins as change, and for a good few of them Angelina had managed to acquire a straw hat from a stall by the quay. For the chief part of the afternoon though they had been walking around the Botanic Gardens, where Angelina had read every single plant label and conferred at length with one of the gardeners about the comparative merits of _pimenta dioica_ and _pimenta obscura._

As they were ambling along the waterfront, trying to decide whether or not to return to the ship, they came to a handsome whitewashed building illuminated with strings of multicoloured lanterns. A garish sign above the door declared it to be The Calypso Bar. Snatches of music wafted out into the street. Angelina looked at Vetinari.

“Please?” she said.

He sighed.  “Well, if it gives you pleasure.”

Inside, a multitude of people both local and foreign were crowded around rickety wooden tables. Most people were standing. There was a strong smell of rum, which was accounted for by the small forests of bottles and glasses on said tables. The same multicoloured lanterns gave light to the interior. Somewhere at the front of the room music was played, but by the entrance it was almost drowned out by the chatter.

“Wait here a minute,” said Vetinari to Angelina and disappeared into the throng.

Angelina tried to look around the room, but since most patrons were taller than five foot two, she didn’t exactly see very much. She craned her neck to discover how the curious sound was produced, when Vetinari came back and took her hand. He pulled her through the crowd to a small table with two empty chairs.

“This is where the acoustics are best,” he said by way of an explanation.

“But how...?” began Angelina. Then she saw the band and stared at the drums. They _looked_ like drums, but they didn’t _sound_ like drums. The players made them trill and warble and sing like nothing she had ever heard before. After a little while, her left foot began to tap. Then her fingers started knocking the beat on the table. Before long she was swaying backwards and forwards with her shoulders swinging. Vetinari sat like a statue.

The music finished and now a young man took to the stage and was greeted by frantic applause. He acknowledged it with a broad smile and began to sing. Angelina didn’t notice that a drink was placed in front of her. She didn’t notice that sweat was trickling down her back. She listened. Song after song pealed from the young man’s mouth, evoking vibrant images of the island life, some cheerful, some serene. Eventually he launched into a song that made her frown in puzzlement.

“Do you know that man, Angelina?” whispered Vetinari.

“Not at all, I assure you. I don’t know what he is getting at. I can’t play the concertina, as you well know. He must mean some other Angelina.”

“He just said there’s only one.”

“Well, it’s not I.”

“I was beginning to think this was maybe where Edward wound up.”

“What a lot of nonsense!”

“Yes. It is time to return to the ship.”

“But we’ve only been here a few minutes!”

“I believe if you would consult your watch, you would find it otherwise.”

Later they stood by the rail on the portside, looking out over Queenston harbour. Lamps and lanterns twinkled everywhere and the moon shone brightly. The sound of the waves mingled with the gentle laughter and chatter of the people.

Half a dozen men were busy carrying bunches of bananas up the gangway onto an Agatean ship. They worked steadily, their bodies covered in sweat, their expressions tranquil. People walked along the quay with smooth, swinging steps and smiles on their faces. Mothers carried their infants in cloth slings on their backs.  A stout woman was standing by a large basket full of coconuts, advertising her wares in a long, melodic stream of words.

“It’s lovely here,” said Angelina. “So calm. So _sensible._ Could we not stay here and wait a while? There’s bound to be a ship to Ankh-Morpork soon. That must be quicker than going all the way to Klatch.”

“No. I don’t want to be stranded here for seven years. Even if we knew for certain that a ship home would call here soon, we couldn’t be sure they’d take us without money. Or do you want to part with your watch?”

“But when we get to Klatch, we’ll have the same problem. We could be just as stuck there as we were on be Trobi.”

“The Morporkian ambassador in Al Khali will be able to help us.”

“You always have an answer for everything!” snapped Angelina.

“I do indeed,” replied Vetinari calmly.

She scowled.

“You just aren’t happy to let me have any pleasures, are you?”

“Don’t be irrational, Angelina. I sat for a whole hour today listening to music, just because you liked it.”

“Well, I hope you haven’t exhausted yourself too much!”

She strode off towards the prow of the ship. Vetinari rubbed his beard. Then he ambled towards the stern. He rounded the corner to the starboard side and caught Angelina in his arms. She stiffened, then melted and leaned into him and he felt her sob. He lifted his hand and stroked her hair.

“We _will_ get home, Lina. I promise you will see them again.”

Angelina dug her nose into his clothes and let the tears flow.

They slept soundly that night and in the morning made their farewells to Queenston. The _Suleika_ unfurled her sails and caught the wind and ploughed onwards through the open seas.

 

 **1)** **The Governor’s Palace _was_ a fine piece of architecture, but there is only so much entertainment value one can get out of looking at columns.**

 

 

oOoOo

 

 **Downey** **Does It** ****

**Lord Downey of the Guild of Assassins has been elected new Patrician of Ankh-Morpork in a surprise vote yesterday afternoon.**

 **Civic leaders cast their ballots in the Rats Chamber yesterday after former Patrician Lord Vetinari was declared dead last week. Acting Patrician Lord Rust had resigned from office last Wednesday amidst rumours that his health was suffering.**

 **In an uncommonly well attended session, the assembly in the Rats Chamber had to decide between three candidates: Mr Moist von Lipwig, the owner of the chairman of the Bank of Ankh-Morpork, Lord Downey, Head of the Guild of Assassins, and outsider Mrs Marietta Cosmopilite, a Quirm Street dressmaker.**

 **Lord Downey won by a majority of only three votes. He will be sworn into office on Octeday. Directly after his election, Lord Downey spoke at a press conference in the Oblong Office. He declared his intention to lead the city to a new era of affluence and stability. “The last few months have been unsettling for many of our citizens, but I will ensure that the flag of reliability will be raised in our communities once again.”**

 **The new Patrician expects to meet with guild leaders and diplomats as early as next week. Mr von Lipwig congratulated his opponent cordially and assured him of his cooperation.**

 ****

**_Comments:_ **

**“Lord Downey is an old friend and I will give him a hand whenever I can.” _Mrs Rosie Palm, Guild of Seamstresses_**

 **“It is not the winning that matters, but the taking part.” _Mrs Marietta Cosmopilite_**

 **“All procedures have been correctly conducted.” _Mr Slant, Guild of Lawyers_**

 **“Lord Downey is willing to carry a heavy burden for the public good. I wish him all the best.” _Ronald, Lord Rust_ **

**“Get lost!” _Commander Sir Samuel Vimes_**

 

oOoOo

For five days, the _Suleika_ was pushed off-course by uncooperative winds, until one morning the passengers awoke to the sight of land on the horizon. At breakfast, Mahmut explained to the Vetinaris that it was an uninhabited island, which was not usually part of the cruise, but that some members of the crew would have to go ashore to stock up on fresh water.

 “What is the name of this place?” asked Vetinari.

“It is called Uiuiui.”

“Ah, they have run out of consonants. That seems to happen a lot in these parts.”

“Haha, sir, very good joke. The captain has decided to offer the passengers a land excursion, if they so desire.”

“Is anybody else going?”

They looked around the room. Around them, the Agatean couples sat at their tables, leafing backwards and forwards through the thick little books **2)**  which they had carried on every excursion, whispering to each other and shaking their heads. Reverend Oats was nowhere to be seen. Vetinari raised his eyebrow at Angelina, and she nodded.

“Never mind, Mahmut, my wife and I will go in any case. Just let us know when the boats are ready.”

“Of course, sir.”

An hour later, two boats set out for the island. The beach was narrow and rocky, with crimson cliffs towering over the shore. Eight crew members, carrying four large water barrels between them, set off to where a crack in the rocks led up to the top of the cliffs. A clear brook emerged here and the men began to open the barrels. Vetinari gestured to them that he intended to climb the cliffs with Angelina. The sailors nodded. One of them held up three fingers to remind them that they were to return to the ship after three hours.

The Vetinaris followed up the narrow, stony path. The cliffs were crowned with tickets of thorny shrubs, but further inland shady woodlands stretched out, which they reached after about half an hour’s walk. Angelina inhaled the aromatic smell of bark and pine needles. Glad to be away from the monotony of the shimmering sea, she ran ahead of her husband. The trees were old and crooked, a mixture of cedars, pines and olive trees. Small yellow butterflies wove their way between the trunks. The ground underfoot was a soft and dry carpet of old leaves and needles.

After a while, Angelina looked back. Vetinari was nowhere to be seen. She frowned and walked for a couple of minutes into the direction she thought she had come from, but she soon realised that the trees looked different from the ones she has passed before. She turned back and tried to retrace her steps, only to find that the ground suddenly sloped downwards and the trees opened up to a glade covered with fresh green grass. In the centre of the clearing stood a house, if that was an adequate term for a building of white marble pillars.

Angelina came closer. The building was surrounded by a kind of moat of sparkling greenish water in a white marble trough. Water cascaded down from the roof, trickled out of numerous spouts along the walls and rose from fountains placed on either side of the door. Rainbows shimmered on the spray that filled the air.

The moat was a good fifteen feet across. Angelina stood right on the edge opposite the door.  While she wondered how she could get across, a slab of white marble slid out in front of her feet and connected with the far side of the moat. This seemed inviting enough, so Angelina crossed gingerly. As soon as she had reached the other side, the bridge was withdrawn. The door opened. Angelina stepped through.

Inside was a lofty room of yet more white marble **3).** The light was dim and greenish and here, too, water was flowing, out of titled urns and the mouths of marble fish and from scallop shaped basins into a circular pool in the middle of the room.

Next to the pool stood a woman. Angelina blinked. The woman was tall and slim and clad in a loose flowing gown of greenish-grey silk. Her face would have been suitable for driving poets insane in desperate attempts to avoid the clichéd comparison with alabaster. Shiny black hair hung down her back almost to her ankles. She wore a necklace of iridescent opals and half a dozen silver bangles on each wrist.

“Who are you?” she said.

“My name is Angelina Vetinari. I have lost my way. Could you tell me how to get back to the big bay with the red cliffs?”

The woman came closer and looked at Angelina. Then she smiled. She gestured towards a marble chair with turquoise cushions.

“We’ll see to that later. For now, please take a seat. I am Circe.”

“Oh. I’ve, um, heard about you,” said Angelina as she sat down.

“Have you?” Circe likewise seated herself on an impressive throne-like chair of a material that the reader can by now guess. She had to gather up her hair and drape it over the armrest before she could sit down. Angelina wondered briefly how the woman coped on the privy.

“You have really heard of Circe?

“Yes. There is a book about the travels of Lavaeolus and it mentions you. I have - “

“Is that so?” interrupted Circe. “How interesting.”

She smiled graciously at Angelina. From a side table, she took a slim silver case and extracted a cigarette and holder. She lit up and took a puff, then cupped her elbow in the palm of the other hand and let the smoke trail up from between her slender fingers.

“It’s not easy being a mythic sorceress in these parts, you know. The lack of company can drive you quite mad. I haven’t had an intelligent conversation with anybody since Lavaeolus left, which was, oh, ages ago. It is such a lonely life here. Maybe I should advertise a bit? I’ve been thinking about little signs placed along the major shipping routes: _The Circe Experience._ What do you think?”

“I’m not sure - ”

“I do give rather splendid dinners, you know,” said Circe. “I remember, when Lavaeolus and his men where here, we started with stir fried prawns with creamed coconut and lemon grass, then marinated lamb chops with a soufflé of peacock eggs on a bed of baby spinach, followed by apricot and almond parfait. They couldn’t have asked for better, could they?”

“And is it true,” whispered Angelina, “that you turned all the men into pigs after the feast?”

Circe gave her a pointed look.

“They turned into pigs all right, but it was nothing to do with me. And it was during the feast, not after. Absolutely no manners! Feet on the table and everything. It was disgusting, I’m telling you, disgusting! Can you imagine, after the third course they stood up and ...” she dropped her voice, “relieved themselves into the empty soup dish!”

“Before you had gone into the drawing room?” cried Angelina, wide-eyed. “That is appalling! They should really - ”

“Indeed. There was nothing for it, I had to turn them all out and insist that they stay in the woods. Lavaeolus was the only one allowed into the house. I hope you see my point.”

“Quite right. I take it he was -”

“Oh, yes!”

Circe crossed her legs and cast a languid glance around the room.

“A delightful man he was, Lavaeolus, whatever faults he might have had. I wish he could have stayed longer. Pushed in the chair for me, passed the salt and everything charming. He called me _bewitching_ , you know, and _enchanting_. I don’t think a woman can ever get enough compliments, do you?”

“Perhaps,” said Angelina. “But I think it is more important that - “

“Unfortunately, ever since then I’ve had a bit of ... a reputation, you might say. Well, I have drawn from it this useful lesson: that loss of virtue in a female is irretrievable, and that she cannot be too guarded in her behaviour towards the undeserving of the other sex, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Well, to a certain degree,” said Angelina, who had not always been completely guarded, but had suffered no ill consequences. She was beginning to find Circe’s conversation rather uninspiring and felt she couldn’t blame Lavaeolus for leaving the lady after three days. “I’d better be going,” she said. “I need to find my way back to the ship before sunset.”

“Oh, I don’t think I would allow that,” answered Circe, her voice suddenly sharp and cold.  “I am, as I told you, starved for company, and I’d be a fool to let you go again.”

She extended a hand towards the entrance, and with an ominous sound the door slammed shut. Angelina frowned.

“Really, Miss Circe, I cannot stay with you any longer. And if you would like a piece of advice, I believe people would be more inclined to spend time with you if you would work a bit on your communication skills. Talk less, listen m- “

“I cannot remember asking you for advice, woman! Who are you to tell Circe what to do? I am charming and bewitching!”

“You may very well be, but nevertheless I am going to leave now,” said Angelina and tried to rise from her chair. To her dismay, she found that she could not move. Her legs seemed glued to the seat. She looked at Circe, who returned her glance with a smug expression.

“You’ll be going nowhere, wench. You will do exactly as I tell you. I am Circe!”

She pointed a finger at Angelina, but froze when a shadowy figure rose beside her and a dagger was pressed against her cheek.

“How did you get in here?” demanded Circe.

“That is for me to know and for you to puzzle about for the next couple of centuries,” replied Vetinari. “I have no time for long debates. You need to know that I am a ruthless man. Where I come from, I am well known to be coldblooded and despotic and to let people hang upside down over a scorpion pit. Let me assure you that I would not hesitate to adorn your enthralling features with a collection of scars, should you fail to release my wife.”

“I am a sorceress. I could turn you into a hippo. Did you not see me close that door by magic?”

“Yes, yes, I’ve seen the rope mechanism. I believe somewhere concealed in your seat there is a lever or button that will withdraw the hooks from my wife’s clothing. I suggest you activate it now. Angelina, as soon as you can get up, I want you to go through to the back room, where you will find another door. Go out and wait for me under the big cypress tree.”

Circe’s face was white, whether from fear or anger Angelina could not tell. The sorceress touched a part of her armrest, and seconds later Angelina felt herself free to rise. She went out the back as Vetinari had instructed her. After a couple of minutes, he joined her, and they hasted through the wood towards the shore. Two sailors were waiting by the last boat and waved to them urgently.

“What an appalling woman!” exclaimed Angelina once she sat in the boat and had caught her breath. She related the whole episode to Vetinari, who shook his head.

 “Now we know the sad truth about this story, too,” he said and sighed.

 **2)** **_The Educated Man’s Guide To The Disc, Bes Pelargic, 3 rd edition. With a foreword by M.Twoflower._ **

**3)** **Some people just don’t know any restraint when it comes to interior decoration.**

 

 

oOoOo

“Mr Drumknott?”

“Yes, my lord?”

“What are all these?” Lord Downey gestured to the stacks of grey folders on his desk.

“They are reports, my lord,” replied the clerk.

“And what kind of reports would they be, Mr Drumknott?”

“Minutes of the recent meetings of several guilds in the city, a report from Mr von Lipwig about the AGM of the financiers’ association, transcripts from the editorial meeting of The Times - “

“Did Lord Rust order all these?” interrupted Downey.

“No, my lord. They are done as standard procedure.”

“So who sets the standard?”

Drumknott straightened his shoulders.

“These procedures were introduced by Lord Vetinari, my lord. He always found that it paid to be up to date with everything that happened in the city.”

“And he did that by creating mountains of paper? Well, Mr Drumknott, I intend to rely on a more people orientated approach. Take all this away and bin it, will you.”

Drumknott turned pale. “But my lord -“

“Bin it!” said Downey. “We’ll do without all these reports in the future. Save the trees. Haha! I’m sure Lady Vetinari would have agreed with me on that one.”

“As you wish, my lord,” whispered Drumknott and left the Oblong Office, clutching the folders to his chest.

 

oOoOo

 

“Tell me, Mahmut, why is the crew so on edge today?” asked Vetinari while the breakfast dishes were being cleared away.

“We’ve come to the Gorunna Trench, sir. It’s not the route we would normally take, but we’ve been blown off course, as you know.”

“Speaking as somebody not entirely familiar with the marine topography of this part of the Disc, I find myself wondering, Mahmut, what is so worrying about the Gorunna Trench?”

“Well, it’s the sea monsters, sir. The Gorunna Trench is full of sea monsters, and we’ll be lucky if we get through without meeting any.”

“Ah. Thank you Mahmut.”

The man bustled away with his tray full of plates and cutlery and Vetinari turned to Angelina.

“What do you think?”

“Well, we’ve had the Sirens, the Cyclops and Circe, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything, does it?”

“Not necessarily, but I believe we should expect some - ah, yes.”

A sudden shudder rocked the ship. Agatean ladies screamed as plates and cups slid off the tables and shattered on the wooden floor. From outside came the wails of the sailors. Angelina and Vetinari dropped their napkins and rushed on deck.

The first thing they saw was the claw. It had a firm grip of the starboard side of the _Suleika_. It was a huge claw, covered with greyish green scales, beset with barnacles and dripping with seawater. The claw was attached to an arm, which in turn extended from a gigantic body that perched on a tiny rocky island. The body was crowned with many heads on long necks. Angelina tried to count them, but they wriggled about too much; she guessed there were at least eight. None of the heads paid any attention to the ship at the moment, because they all stared at the other monster.

During her childhood studies of Ephebian mythology, Angelina had wondered how a mere whirlpool could be considered a monster. Now she understood. The swirling waters were there all right, and might have devoured the _Suleika_ were it not for the claw of the other monster. In the centre of the swirl the waters rose to form the figure of a woman, at least twenty feet tall, with features that were uncouth and wore an expression of sulking defiance.

“It’s a sea troll,” whispered Vetinari. “A very rare species.”

Most of the other passengers had by now come on deck, too, and stood gaping at the two monsters.

“Why should it be yours? Don’t you still have indigestion from that Agatean brig you had last week?” hissed the many-headed monster.

The watery giantess scratched her ear.

“Well, maybe a little - excuse me,” - she stifled a burp - “but I’m still feeling a bit peckish.”

“That is not very neighbourly, I must say!”

“Oh, have it then, if it makes you happy.”

With a smug expression on all her faces, the many-headed monster lowered one of her heads and bit off the tip of the mast.

“Mistress Scylla!” called Vetinari. The heads turned to face him.

“I’m Hydra,” snapped the monster. “Scylla is away on holiday to Krull. She won’t be back for another month.”

“Well, I hope she enjoys herself. So, Mistress Hydra, may I make a suggestion? Since Mistress Charybdis wavers her - “

“That’s Miss Charybdis to you!” interrupted the other monster.

“Since _Miss_ Charybdis waives her right to consume this ship - “

“Who says she has a right to it?” hissed Hydra. The head that did the talking continued to look at Vetinari, while the others veered round to glare at Charybdis. Vetinari turned to the watery monster.

“Apparently Mistress Hydra insists on her superior claim to the vessel.”

“Superior claim? What superior claim?” snorted Charybdis and folded her arms. Her eyes were glinting at Hydra.

“Miss Charybdis doubts your credentials, Mistress Hydra -“

“Does she? Does she now? I’ll give her credentials, that filthy piece of swirling water!”

“Filthy, am I?” growled Charybdis. “Well, at least I don’t have a problem with multiple bad breath!”

“Let’s just stay calm, shall we,” shouted Vetinari. “I understand your vexation, Miss Charybdis, and your complaint that Mistress Hydra should  demand such an unreasonable share of the ocean’s bounty, especially in view of the fact that she is only a temporary replacement for Mistress Scylla - “

“Right you are!” replied Charybdis. “She’s just some little upstart after all - “

“Insolence!” screamed Hydra.

All of her heads were turned towards Charybdis now, but the claw still held on to the ship. She bared her teeth and snarled. Charybdis pushed her jaw forwards and her shoulders back. On deck,sailors and passenger alike held their breath. Then Hydra let go of the ship and pounced on Charybdis, who had expected her move and hit her square in two of her faces with both fists. The fight didn’t take long to unfold. Captain Al Batros yelled at the sailors, who scurried up the masts and along the deck in their hurry to get the ship moving. Vetinari turned away from the spectacle of the fighting sea monsters and smiled at Angelina.

However, he had triumphed too soon. The moment he turned his back, Hydra extended one of her long arms and plucked him clean off the deck. He looked minute in her enormous claw. Without relenting in her assail of Charybdis, she held him up to one of her heads and roared:

“And I’ll deal with you, too, you interfering little nincompoop - “

Any further remark was cut short though by the scream of rage that escaped her when Vetinari’s dagger sank into her flesh. In complete defiance of all health and safety concerns she opened her claw and Vetinari plunged into the sea. 

Without inconveniencing herself much with excessive thinking, Angelina pulled off the ribbon that held her blouse in place and leapt over the rail. She hit the water in her bi-skin-knee and gasped at the cold. A wave hit her in the face and she spluttered and coughed. She wiped her eyes and looked around, treading water. To the right the two sea monsters were now locked in a deadly embrace **4)** while to the left the _Suleika_ was slowly pulling away. From the corner of her eye she saw Mahmut throwing a life ring at her, but she ignored it and swam towards where she had spotted a dark fleck just disappearing in the water. The sea was rough and she had little hope that she would reach him in time. A few seconds later she saw him coming to the surface again, struggling to keep his head above the waves. He was only six or seven yards away from her now and if he could but stay afloat for another half minute, she would be able to save him. She swam flat out, breaststroke, since she had never mastered the crawl, her eyes fixed on him. She was only three yards away, only two. Just as she stretched out her arm to grab him, an enormous gaping maw opened up and devoured him. Right in front of her eyes, a huge grey shape slid back into the ocean. She let out a cry of rage. Then she felt herself lifted out of the water by a cold, slippery and most of all humungous body.

“Hold on tight!” said the whale and carried her away.

 

 **4)** **There is no proof that this actually ended fatally for either of the monsters, but what’s in a figure of speech, eh?**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are puzzled about the song in the Calypso Bar, you might want to google "Harry Belanfonte" and "Angelina", and then you'll also know how my heroine got her name.


	13. Swallowed by a whale - not!

 “Any man I choose?”

“Any man. You look at him, you say special words in your mind, you do as you choose with him.”

“Are you sure it works?”

The old woman had a face like a raisin, or possibly a sultana. She waved a beringed hand in the air impatiently.

“Does it work? For woman with crooked teeth, with sallow face, maybe yes, maybe no. For woman who is as beautiful as the sun - how can it not work?”

With a jingle of bracelets she stretched out her arm and her hand closed over the gold coins. The other woman, the one who was as beautiful as the sun, picked up the amulet and left without a greeting, proving that “Handsome is, who handsome does” is just another pointless saying.

 

oOoOo

 

“I can’t believe my husband has been swallowed by a whale!”

Angelina was holding on as best she could while the creature ploughed through the waves. She had never been very confident even on a horse, and riding this slippery giant was infinitely worse.

“I’m a fish, actually,” replied the creature. “The difference being, I have fins, not flippers, and I’d thank you for not pulling them quite so hard.”

“Very well, swallowed by a fish then. Are you sure he will be alright in there?”

“For a little while. Can you hear me in there, mister? You’ll be as right as rain!”

There was no reply from the inside of the fish.

“I’ll try to get ashore as quickly as possible. Will Hersheba be okay for you?”

“I hardly know.”

“Well, I’ll make for Hersheba then, it’s closest. If I don’t get rid of him soon, I’ll be sick. I’m vegetarian, I’ll have you know.”

Angelina sighed.

“I am riding a talking fish, who is vegetarian, but has accidentally swallowed my husband. Is there any evidence that I haven’t gone mad?”

“It wasn’t accidentally. I was trying to save him, you know. Why do you think I took you on board, eh?”

“Well, why did you?”

“Because I can’t stand that flipping Hydra. Well, I’m also doing somebody a favour, but I’m not allowed to talk about that. But that Hydra! Arrogant like a basking shark and vile manners. Last week she turned up her nose at old Mrs Palaver, the moray eel, only because Mrs Palaver has given up her own cave after her husband died and now lives in a rented crevice. Scylla now, I’ve never minded her, always polite, always greeting everybody as she ought to, and doesn’t give herself any airs...”

The fish droned on and on and Angelina’s thoughts drifted away. ‘If we both survive this,’ she thought, ‘I might even start worshipping a God. I’d just have to decide which one.’

 

oOoOo

 

They had both been lost in thought, one on his way home from work, the other wandering aimlessly without a workplace to come home from. They had collided with each other and muttered their excuses, then exclaimed in surprise when they recognized one another. After a chat in the streets, their voices competing with the sounds of carts rattling past and fishwives yelling, Drumknott had invited Constantin home. Now they were sitting at the well-scrubbed kitchen table and talking about old times, half aware that they were way too young for this kind of nostalgia. Meanwhile, Elsie served lentil soup, followed by bangers and mash with fried onions, and watched with satisfaction how Constantin polished off his second helpings of each.

“So, how’s Downey treating you?” Constantin asked between two spoonfuls of mashed potato.

Drumknott didn’t answer. He had a mouth full of sausage.

“Lord Downey has instructed Rufus to bin all the reports that Lord Rust left unread,” said Elsie. She tried to achieve a facial expression of grave concern.

“Flipping egg!” exclaimed Constantin. “I bet you didn’t like that, did you?”

Drumknott was still chewing.

“Rufus is rebelling,” declared Elsie and giggled. At last, Drumknott swallowed.

“He also told me to have the reports discontinued. But I haven’t cancelled them, and I’ve filed them all the regular way without his lordship’s knowledge. Just in case...”

His eyes met Constantin’s, the same unspoken glimmer of hope on both sides. Elsie pulled the Spotted Dick out of the oven and began to dish it out. Constantin dug his spoon in as soon as the bowl stood in front of him while he poured over the cream with his other hand.

“I don’t actually believe it was an accident,” he said after the first mouthful of pudding had made its way down his food pipe.

Drumknott took the cream jug and carefully measured three spoonfuls into his bowl.

“You know, that thought had occurred to me, too. For a start, I can’t quite believe the account of Miss Winter’s behaviour. As far as I know her, she’s quite a plucky little woman, when push comes to shove. It wouldn’t be like her to refuse the only means of rescue on account of some hysterical fear.”

“I’ve seen her in a tight corner a couple of times, but I’ve never heard her scream,” agreed Constantin.

“But that’s not the main thing. I know his lordship well. I am almost certain he truly loves Miss Winter, but - and, Constantin, I am sure you’ll agree with me - if it had been a choice between abandoning her and abandoning his city, I don’t think he’d have opted for her.”

Constantin shook his head. “No, I don’t agree. He wouldn’t have abandoned her. But he would have _made_ her get into the rowing boat. Can you imagine any scenario in which he would _not_ get her to her senses?”

“Hm.” Drumknott scraped his bowl and savoured the last portion of pudding. “True. But either way, the account we’ve been given doesn’t make sense.”

“It doesn’t. I tried for a while to find out what really happened. I thought Rust or Downey had staged it, but it wasn’t them. And then I gave up, because I thought, what’s the point? It won’t bring back the dead.”

“Ah, but are they dead? The newspaper account certainly wasn’t true. And that’s what makes me think that the other story, you know, the one about the omniscope, might not be true either.”

There was silence, as both men contemplated the implication of this. Constantin sighed.

“I wish you were right,” he said. “If only he came back, then all would be well. I really don’t know what to do any more. I just cannot be an assassin.”

 “I could probably find you a job at the palace. Clerk Michael retired last month.”

“You want me to do filing? I thought you knew me better than that, Rufus.” Elsie put down another plateful of pudding in front of Constantin, which he tucked into with undiminished enthusiasm.

“True. I forgot your need for excitement. What else could you do, though?”

“I really do not know. I’ve tried all sorts of things. The post office won’t have me, because I’m allergic to dogs. I’ve applied for a post as a bouncer at the Mended Drum, but they just laughed at me. The woman at The Times said my spelling wasn’t good enough. Anything I try has some kind of snag.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s a tough life. Well, just be on the watch for me, will you?”

“Certainly.” Drumknott paused and furrowed his brow as if mulling over what had just been said. “Actually, I can think of something that would suit you.”

“Do you?” Constantin finished off the last spoonful of Spotted Dick and proceeded to pick up the crumbs with his fingertip.

“It involves danger, requires fitness and quick thinking, and an admirable man will be in charge of you.”

“Sounds perfect. What is it?”

“Listen...”

And while Elsie at last sat down to eat her own meal, Constantin listened.

 

oOoOo

 

Hersheba greeted Angelina in the shape of a bleak, forlorn beach with very little sand and plenty of sharp, red rocks. It fell towards the sea rather steeply and the slope appeared to continue under water, thus allowing the fish to come fairly close to the shore. With a noise so repulsive that Angelina wished she could forget it instantly, it disgorged the limp body of Vetinari, which sailed through the air for a good ten yards and landed just where the breakers washed upon the beach. Angelina dismounted from the fish and waded ashore. Vetinari was alive, but unconscious and covered from head to toe with yellowish goo. She dragged him up the slope out of the reach of the waves and sank down beside him, panting. Just as she was thinking about what to say to the fish by way of a thank-you **1)** , a gust of wind whisked up the sand and dust and a huge figure formed inside the cloud. It was roughly man-shaped, but with the horns of a bull and the shell of a tortoise on his back. It glanced at Vetinari and then turned towards the fish.

“That’s not the Reverend,” it rumbled. “You got the wrong man, you stupid fish!”

The fish gave the fin-shaped equivalent of a shrug.

“He was the one that fell into the water,” it said defiantly. “Besides, I liked the little lady who was with him.”

The figure shook a fist.

“I shall smite thee - !”

“You’re not supposed to do that anymore. Anyway, I must be going. Good luck with your man, Miss,” said the fish and slid back into the ocean.

“Pardon? Oh, yes, thank you, thank you very much,” said Angelina. She hadn’t quite managed to keep up with the events. The apparition turned around, scowled at her and disappeared in a puff of green smoke. An earlier train of thought occurred to Angelina. She shook her head.

“Maybe not,” she said to herself. “Not this one anyway.”

All alone on the beach now, she sat with Vetinari’s head in her lap, uncertain what to do next. She would have liked to remove his clothing and rinse it out in the sea; salty water would have been preferable to the digestive juices of the fish. But he was a tall man, and it would have been difficult for her to undress him, and she didn’t want to leave him exposed to the sun naked. After a while, the stench seemed less noticeable, but maybe that was just her sense of smell giving up.

It was nearly nightfall when Vetinari regained consciousness. He opened his eyes and looked up at Angelina.

“Definitely preferable to the last thing I saw,” he mumbled and closed his eyes again.

They slept on the beach that night. It was warm enough, so they didn’t need shelter, and they felt that there was nothing much left that they could fear. In the morning Vetinari took a bath in the ocean while Angelina did the best she could with his clothes. She realized that she wore nothing but her bi-skin-knee, sandals and her watch on the chain round her neck. Water had seeped behind the glass. She sighed.

“Do you think this will count as the shipwreck?” said Vetinari while they spread out his clothes over the rocks to dry.

“I don’t know. I’m not sure we’re still following the trail of Lavaeolus. The fish didn’t fit in.”

“Hm, yes. Maybe we won’t have to do the whole lot. Let’s hope so. We’re in enough trouble as it is. No food, no water, no idea where we are - “

“Hersheba. We’re in Hersheba. The fish told me,” said Angelina.

Vetinari steepled his fingers.

“You rely on information given by a fish?” he asked.

“It was a rather helpful and polite fish,” replied Angelina.

“Well, it makes little difference. All we can do is to try and find a settlement. We’d be best climbing up one of those hills and take a look around.”

“Will you be able to walk?”

“I am fine.”

“What was it like inside the fish?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. We’ll go as soon as I have something to wear. I’m afraid your attire might meet with censure among the local population.”

In the sweltering heat, it only took just over an hour for Vetinari’s shirt and trousers to dry. His shoes were still squelching, but they set off anyway and made their way up the slope of the nearest hill. When they reached the summit, it afforded a splendid view of a coastline that was deserted in both directions as far as their eyes could see. With no hope to find a settlement on the seaside, they turned inland. The hills were rocky and dry and entirely pathless, forcing them to skid down slopes and scramble out of valleys like rather clumsy ibexes. Around noon they stood on top of a knoll that seemed to mark the edge of the downs. Ahead and below they saw a dusty plane stretching to the horizon with just a few rocky outcrops to the left. A shambles of strangely shaped rocks and boulders huddled at the foot of these outcrops. They descended the shady side of the hill and had come about half the way down, when they heard the trickling of water over rock. Angelina rushed ahead.

Overhung by a small cliff of red rock, the mouth of a cave opened and from it emerged a miniscule spring. The air was cooler here, chilled by a draft from the dark cavern. Angelina knelt down by the rivulet and plunged her hands into the cold water. Vetinari, who had caught up with her, looked at the cave, looked at the spring, felt the draft and came to a conclusion.

“Don’t drink that water!” he shouted.

 

 **1)** **How to address expressions of gratitude to marine creatures is a topic sadly neglected in the classic curriculum.**

 

oOoOo

Icy rain and smog were fighting for supremacy in the streets of Ankh-Morpork. To anyone who would have cared to observe the struggle, it would have looked like a draw. Nobody cared, though. People huddled into their coats and hurried along to seek shelter in whatever suitable or unsuitable place they could find.

Some people, of course, were rich enough to be above the weather, at least metaphorically speaking,and were conveyed without being inconvenienced by the wet and wind. A considerable number of these lucky creatures were currently congregating at the residence of Lord and Lady Selachii. They left their carriages and made their way into the house under the protection of large umbrellas, which floated alongside them, the hands which held them attached to human beings of much lesser importance, who were therefore increasingly soaked.

As soon as one came through the door, one was in a different world. Left behind was the dark and damp, and the light and warmth of many fires and even more numerous chandeliers welcomed the visitors. They slipped out of their coats, oblivious to the hands that caught and carried away those garments, and joined the select crowd already assembled.

The Patrician had been one of the earlier arrivals. He didn’t normally care much for Lady Selachii’s soirees. But this one was a welcome distraction from the disaster zone Rust had left behind. He had to admit, though obviously only to himself, that Havelock had done an excellent job all those years. It would take him a while to make the city work again. One of his first deeds in office had been to readmit the guilds banned by Rust. He wondered if Rosie Palm might have reciprocated by blacklisting the man, just as she had shown herself appreciative of Downey’s support.

With a glass of cognac **2)** in one hand and a salmon pâté vol-o-vent in the other, he was currently trying to decide how best to impress as many people as possible with his presence, while talking to as few of them as he could get away with. ****

It was one of Regina’s themed parties, meaning that in addition to Ankh-Morpork’s nobility she had invited illustrious persons from a particular walk of life. This time, Downey had noted with relief, the chosen group were musicians, so he could expect not to be embarrassed by anything other than his complete lack of interest in their trade. With a shudder he remembered the occasion when the special guests had been fashion designers.

His painful reminiscence was interrupted by Lady Selachii’s voice from behind him:

“Oh, and now you _must_ meet our dear Patrician, he is _such_ a treasure!”

He turned round. He blinked. He blinked again.

Next to Lady Selachii stood a woman. No, not a woman, a Woman. She was at least six feet tall and to call her voluptuous would be an almost criminal understatement. An emerald green dress did not so much conceal her body, but accentuate it. Her eyes were of a similarly glittering green, highlighted by a golden ring around the iris. Long, curved eyelashes the colour of jet surrounded them.

The most remarkable thing about her, however, was her hair. It rose from her brow in an intricate tower of interwoven braids that added further to her impressive height. Out of the centre of the tower it cascaded in a sheer unbelievable abundance of gentle curls, flowing down her back and over her shoulders almost down to her waist.

Its colour was that of polished copper, shining and glimmering in the candle light like the contents of a treasure chest. Here and there touches of gold and amber lent an extra sparkle to this breathtaking wonder of nature. A faint scent of lilies emanated from the tresses. **3)**

“This,” Lady Selachii said as if the siren’s beauty was in any way her own achievement, “is Dame Gina Dulci.”

The Woman smiled. As she did so, little golden twinkles seemed to appear in the air.

“I am delighted to make your acquaintance at last, Lord Downey,” she purred. “Why, I have never yet seen you at the opera house!”

She fixed her eyes on him and he felt he was drifting away in a current that took him way, way out into a sea hitherto unknown.

 **2)** **Poured from a decanter labelled “cangoc”.**

 **3)** **Come on, you must have figured out by now why her name is Maria Susanna!**

 

oOoOo

“Don’t drink that water!” shouted Vetinari, but Angelina had already dipped in her hands and taken a deep draught. A curious taste it had, and it wasn’t as cold as she had expected. It seemed heavy and sweet, and a pleasant darkness embraced her...

 _Angelina stands by the doorway and glances inside. The room is dimly lit and comfortably furnished with an assortment of chairs and occasional tables of vastly varying styles. Some thirty women are seated there, attired in a range of different fashions that seem improbable to say the least. They are talking to each other in small groups, or rather, talking would be the technical definition of their physical actions, while the overall effect of their communication would be better described as bickering._

 _Angelina finds herself listening to the group nearest the door. A stout woman of about fifty, with curly dark hair and flashing eyes, addresses another, regally dressed female in the opposite chair: “Well, he never even married me until we had been living together for eighteen years, and even that only after I had saved his life when the French came. He called it gratitude. I call it cheek!”_

 _“Oh, stop whining, Christiane, he didn’t exactly cut off your head, did he?” says the regal woman with a yawn and arranges the lace on her impressive ruff._

 _“That’s all right for you to say, you were a queen and people had to give you some respect. You didn’t have to put up with the posh ladies of the town arguing whether they would even give you a cup of tea!”_

 _“Give it a rest, you two, will you,” says another woman in a short, tight-fitting dress and pillbox hat. “Now, when my husband was killed, I was so distraught that…”_

 _“…you kept wearing the blood-stained suit, yeah, yeah, yeah,” chime two of the others in unison. One of them, who is similarly clothed to the owner of the blood-stained suit, shakes her head in a sharp gesture of irritation._

 _“Really, Jackie, “she says, “we’ve heard it a thousand times by now. Get over it. You did very well for yourself afterwards.”_

 _“Harken to Wallis, she knows all about second marriages or even third,” adds the other, whose blonde hair is pulled away from her face into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. “And it’s not as if you were the only one who was married to a popular president.” The one addressed as Jackie snorts, but the blonde woman just glares at her, stands up and takes a deep breath._

 _“No, Eva!” calls the woman with the ruff and pulls her back down unto her seat. “If you start singing that awful Don’t Cry for Me song again, I will cut your head off!”_

 _“Don’t be ridiculous, Anne,” says the one referred to as Wallis. “You have no idea how to wield an axe.”_

 _“Oh, you are just jealous, because you never got to be queen!”_

 _“Peace, peace!” cries the woman called Christiane. “I don’t mind Eva singing, as long as I don’t have to listen to Lady Felmet going on about blood on her hands again.”_

 _All five cast a surreptitious glance at another group of women nearby, who are listening with dazed looks to the drone of a rather statuesque lady. Then they look back at each other and nod in silent agreement._

 _“I wouldn’t be surprised if Topsy Lavish gave her a right…” begins Christiane, but she is interrupted by Jackie, who has spied Angelina by the door._

 _“Oh, look, here’s somebody new. Come in, come in, there’s space enough.”_

 _Angelina takes a cautious step towards the group._

 _“What is this place?” she asks._

 _The women exchange looks._

 _“Have you not been told?” replies Eva. “It is the Hall of Famous Wives in Limbo. We’re all stuck here until our husbands have sorted out their affairs, huh, and get round to claiming us for the afterlife. Talk about hell being other people!”_

 _“Who is your husband?” demands the one called Anne._

 _“Lord Vetinari, the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork.”_

 _A hush falls over the room. The women in the other groups drop their conversation and turn their heads. One by one, they rise from their seats and draw near, eyeing Angelina with suspicious faces._

 _“He married you?” asks Wallis. “I don’t believe it.”_

 _“Well, I don’t see why everybody assumes that a man of importance cannot fall in love with…”_

 _“Oh, shut up, Christiane!” says Anne. “Will you look at this little excuse for a woman?”_

 _“Indeed,” agrees Jackie. “Does she look to you like she could be a First Lady? No fashion sense whatsoever. What an appalling outfit!”_

 _“And his lordship such a fine-looking man, too,” adds Eva._

 _“She doesn’t have the legs for it,” sneers Wallis._

 _“Well, I…” begins Angelina, when she feels her whole self yanked back and pulled away from the scene, which dissolves in darkness._

When she opened her eyes, Vetinari was looking down at her.

“Oh, good,” he said. “I thought you really were at death’s door there.”

“Quite possibly,” replied Angelina, “I had gone a little further than that. What happened?”

“You drank from that spring and then you fell over.”

“And what did you do?” She looked at a strange arrangement of little stones on a flat rock. “What are all these pebbles for? It looks like some sort of game.”

“Oh, I just played a little round of Thud!”

“With whom?”

“It’s of no consequence.”

“But there isn’t - “

“Never mind. Let’s get away from here.”

He dragged her away from the cave and down the slope. Near the foot of the hill they saw that what had looked like a random assortment of rocks was actually a small camp of very poorly pitched tents. It had seemed lifeless it the midday heat, but now that the sun was sinking, people were emerging from the tents. The small, lumpy boulders were nothing else than resting camels.  Vetinari pulled Angelina down behind a large stone and peered around it cautiously.

“There are about a dozen people down there,” he said. “Mostly Hershebean, though one seems to be a white man.”

Angelina looked out at the other side of the boulder. She saw the tents, the camels and the dark-skinned men in their white robes and headscarves. Then she spotted the one Vetinari had referred to. He wore a white shirt, short trousers and a buff coloured hat. She saw him moving about the camp, purposefully, vigorously. He lifted a hand and rubbed his neck. Angelina held her breath. She knew that gesture, that way of moving. Without a second thought she leapt up from behind the boulder and began running towards the camp.


	14. The Tomb of Queen Halligalli

Sergeant Colon and Corporal Nobbs of the Ankh-Morpork city watch stood on the Brass Bridge. They were each leaning over the parapet, but on opposite sides of the road. It would be nice to assume that they stood there in conscientious execution of their duties, but it is closer to the truth to say that they were engaged in a rather trivial experiment. Nobby periodically dropped an object into the river, while Colon looked over on the other side and reported whether or not that object made an appearance.

“So, pebble sinks, apple core sinks, broken bottle sinks, bananana skin floats, stick floats - “

“Stick would float anyway, Sarge,” remarked Nobby.

“I knew that, Nobby. There’s no need for you to tell me which things should float and which shouldn’t.”

“Just thought I’d mention it, Fred. No offence.”

Sergeant Colon pulled back his shoulders and shifted up his stomach to adjust his belt.

“In any case, Nobby, I think it is clear that the river is slowly recovering. We are reclaiming our cultural heritage.”

“Well, it’s not exactly _cultural_ , Sarge.”

“You know what I mean. I mean no disrespect to the memory of Lord Vetinari, he was a decent enough man and gave us many a fine dartboard - “

“Don’t forget the kettle!” said Nobby and dropped a grocery bill.

“ - and a rather good kettle, I was just coming to that, Nobby, so, no disrespect to his lordship, but it was maybe just as well that he disappeared when he did. The ideas he had got from that woman were threatening the very texture of our commonunity. Paper floats.”

“Who would have thought it that he’d go and marry that Envious Mental Health Officer? It’s not as if she was all that pretty, either.”

“You mean, unlike Miss Pushpram?”

“There’s no need to be like that, Fred,” snapped Nobby and kicked a dog turd into the water. “Verity is a fine figure of a woman, and she is prepared to judge a man by his hidden depths.”

“Yes, she probably wonders whether there’s pike in there. Dog turd sinks.”

 “She values a man who is in touch with his feminine side,” said Nobby huffily. From behind his ear he pulled out a dog end and lit up. He expectorated loudly and spat into the river, then he took a deep puff.   

“Spittle floats,” reported Colon.

 

oOoOo

 

From behind a boulder halfway down a stony hill in Hersheba, Vetinari was watching Angelina running into a camp full of strangers and throwing her arms around the man with the buff coloured hat. The man, caught off balance, stumbled and almost fell, but somehow managed to remain upright. There was some exclamation on his side, he kissed her on both cheeks and then they simply stood in a close embrace. Vetinari found himself wondering whether Angelina’s account of her first engagement had been entirely candid. He rose and started to walk down towards the camp. As he came closer however, and began to discern the figure more clearly, a brief smile appeared on his face. He should have known. Angelina was, after all, fairly predictable. In a leisurely pace, he approached the two figures. The man looked around when he heard Vetinari’s shoes crunching on the ground.

“Hello, Havelock!” he said and grinned.

“Good afternoon ... Felix,” replied Vetinari. He was not completely comfortable with the fact that his marriage had thrown him into intimate terms with virtual strangers.

Felix Winter, his left arm tightly wrapped around his sister, extended his right hand. Vetinari shook it for a full two seconds. He felt some cordiality was due to Felix, whom he considered - contrary to appearances -  to be the most sensible of all Angelina’s brothers.

“I’m here on a dig,” said Felix cheerfully.

Vetinari looked at the tents, the camels, the men with the pickaxes.  “I would never have guessed.”

“But I thought you were heading off to Elharib,” said Angelina. She snuggled up close to Felix. The Hershebeans were staring at her in her bi-skin-knee, disapproval written on their faces. **1)**

“I was, I was, but the site I was going for had already been dug up by somebody else. There’s a lot of competition in the treasure hunting business, you know. But you two had better come inside. You look half perished. And you really ought to put on some clothes, Lina!”

He led them into a tent where he seated them on not quite trustworthy looking folding chairs and provided them with water and slices of melon. Then he sat down on a leather pouf and watched Angelina. His grey eyes were shining out of his weather-beaten face.

“I am so glad to see you. I had heard that you were lost at sea.”

Vetinari looked up from his melon.

“Have you had any news about the situation in Ankh-Morpork?” he asked.

“I’m afraid not. I left there the day after you did and the only communication I’ve had was from Henry saying that the wedding was postponed due to your disappearance.”

“Poor Henry, he must be so worried,” said Angelina. “And how is everyone at home, have you heard from them?”

Felix cast down his eyes. He took Angelina’s hand and pressed it.

“I am sorry, but I have bad news for you, Lina. I had a message from Robert last week. Papa has passed away.”

 **1)** **In rather large print.**

 

oOoOo

 

Angelina spent three full days crying. On the morning of the fourth day, she emerged from the tent in breeches and a shirt belonging to Felix and declared that she was ready to get on with her life. Felix showed her around the camp and introduced her to the Hershebean men, who seemed only slightly less disapproving of her new outfit. In the afternoon, he took Angelina and Vetinari up the hill to the site of his excavation.

In an area the size of a small house, the sand and rock had been scraped away and in the centre, buried into the hillside, was a huge door. It was carved out of the same reddish rock that formed the surrounding landscape and every inch of it was decorated with strange, swirly pictograms. A considerable number of dents and fresh scratch marks bore witness that it had recently withstood a determined onslaught.

“It is a Curavian tomb. We found this entrance after about a month in the area,” explained Felix. “But now I’m stuck. The door cannot be opened by force, at least not by any means I have available here. I suspect there is a stealth lock involved. If that is the case, I will have to work out what the combination for the mechanism is. I’ve puzzled over this for the last two weeks, but I haven’t made any progress.”

“Can you read the script?” asked Angelina.

“Yes, but it’s of little use. It only gives the usual information. The Curavians disappeared from history quite suddenly, you know, but their language is fairly well documented. Jacques Champignon compiled this really useful glossary.” He flourished a little tattered booklet.  “The inscription is from the Fifth Dynasty. It declares this to be the tomb of Queen Halligalli VII and proclaims the generic threats against any intruder. But there is no clue as to what controls the door mechanism.”

Vetinari stepped up to the door and inspected the pictograms with interest. He picked up the glossary, which Felix had placed on a boulder, and began to study it. Meanwhile, Felix related to Angelina the details of Queen Halligalli’s life, which seemed to have involved more lovers than hot meals **2)** , bathtubs full of monkey’s milk and for some reason a four foot cucumber.

“That’s really exceptional for a cucumber,” said Angelina. “They don’t generally grow longer than two feet.”

“Well, it seems that Queen Halligalli was rather fond of superlatives. It is mentioned in the Annals of Re’Durat that she was credited with establishing the biggest salad bar this side of the Rim Ocean,” continued Felix. “Apparently there were even chiefs from Howandaland - “

A low, rumbling sound made him look round. The wings of the door had opened to the inside of the tomb. Vetinari stood on the threshold and very pointedly didn’t smile. A wide grin spread on Felix’s face.

“Ah! Someone appears to be smarter than me. You can explain this later, Havelock,” he said and took Angelina by the hand. “Come, Lina, this is where we find the treasure!”

That evening they sat in the tent celebrating with the sweet Hershebean wine, which was drunk from shallow ceramic bowls, and discussed their plans for the following day. Felix was more animated than ever, practically glowing with pleasure and perfectly happy to give Vetinari the whole credit for cracking the stealth lock. He insisted on breaking up camp and setting off with them towards Al Khali.

“I can definitely take you as far as Syrrit. This dig is finished and we’ll be leaving tomorrow anyway. There is a site in the mountains that I’d like to investigate. It’s only three day’s ride from there to Al Khali. If we go through Al-Ybi, we can pick up another camel or two, and I can get a couple of men to accompany you.”

“That would be very convenient,” said Vetinari.

“Will we come past the rubber plantations?” asked Angelina.

“No, they’re closer to the rim, towards Ymituri. You found out something nasty about their rubber, didn’t you? I heard though that they’re doing a brisk trade with Ankh-Morpork again these days.”

“Yes, we heard that, too,” said Angelina gloomily.

“All the more important to get back as soon as possible and set things to right,” said Vetinari.

“Will you be able to?” asked Felix.

“Havelock can do anything,” said Angelina with conviction.

Felix laughed. “After you opened that door today, Havelock, I can well believe it.”

“Angelina flatters me. There are many things I cannot do. I am completely useless at crocheting. And, alas, I am no sailor and I can barely swim.”

After a couple more bowls of wine, Angelina slumped against Vetinari’s shoulder and dozed off. The men talked for another while and then went to sleep, too. Felix woke them before sunrise to get ready for the day’s journey. When they stepped out of the tent, the first blush of dawn tinted the sky. The air was cool and sharp. Everywhere in the camp men were busy, loading camels, taking down tents. One of the men came up to them leading two camels.

“This one is called Uncooperative Bottom and this is Progeny of Fallen Angel,” explained Felix.

“Really?”

“No, not really. These are euphemisms. I brought them as beasts of burden, but since the treasure is not quite as big as I had hoped, they are now spare and you can use them for riding. I’ll leave you to make friends with them, I have a few more things to do before we set off.”

Angelina regarded Progeny of Fallen Angel with suspicion. It seemed to return her feelings. When she turned to Vetinari, she found him already mounted on Uncooperative Bottom. She looked at the saddle of her camel and found nothing even remotely resembling stirrups. The saddle perched right on top of the hump. Angelina only just reached to the creature’s neck.

Vetinari moved his camel beside hers. He leaned over and whispered something into the beast’s ear. Immediately, the camel knelt down on all fours.

“How did you do that?” asked Angelina.

“I asked it to calculate the probability of it getting through the next twenty-four hours without being poked by a very sharp stick into a very soft part of the anatomy.”

“And that works?”

“As you see. It seems to be really busy working it out. You’d better use the opportunity.”

Angelina clambered onto the back of the camel and found it only marginally more trust-inspiring than the back of the fish. At least there was a pommel to hold on to. Felix appeared from behind a boulder and gave a command in Hershebian. The camel drivers set their beasts into motion with a mixture of whistles and muttered curses. Soon their caravan left the site of the camp behind and made its way widdershins towards Al-Ybi. Twenty-seven point three percent, thought Progeny of Fallen Angel.

 **2)** **It must be said in her defence that the Curavians were very fond of cold buffets.**

 

oOoOo

 

The sun shone as bright as ever on the white beach and the palm trees, the water was no less blue than it had been for all the ages before, but a dissonant chord had entered the eternal harmony of life on Aloaoey Island.

“But I don’t want to play this game,” sulked Kamauri. “It’s so pointless.” **3)**

“You are the only person who knows enough Morporkian to play it,” replied Ka’adburi Ba.

“Why do you have to play it in Morporkian? Play it in Trob and get one of the old men from the village. I want to go for a swim!”

Kamauri rose from her chair, but the Alibi grabbed her wrist.

“Sit down!”

“No. Who are you to command me?”

Ka’adburi Ba leaned back in his chair. He steepled his fingers under his chin and, with a certain amount of effort, lifted his left eyebrow for about two millimetres.

“Correct me, if I’m wrong, but I’ve always lived under the impression that I am the Alibi of this island.”

Kamauri stared at him.

“Oh, get lost!” she exclaimed and stormed off along the path that led through the hibiscus thicket. Ten seconds later, a tremendous eruption of laughter was heard from behind the bushes.

 **3)** **Of course these were not her actual words. In Trob, she said: “It is like an exquisite china bowl, which, after having cracked right through the middle and therefore having become unusable for serving fruit salad in, is still kept out of sentimental attachment, thus taking up valuable space in the cupboard.”**

 

oOoOo

 

Riding a camel through the desert beyond the bleak mountains of Syrrit was not significantly less boring than drifting on the Rim Ocean. The horizon was similarly shapeless, the scenery consisted of little but sand and the movement of the great beasts provided as little excitement as comfort. Crethi and Plethi, the Hershebean camel drivers, were taciturn men and unwilling to converse in what little Morporkian they knew. On the second day, Vetinari and Angelina took up their Tell Me The Truth game again.

“What do you consider your greatest weakness?” asked Angelina.

“I have no weaknesses. I couldn’t possibly afford them.”

“That is not a proper answer. Everybody has weaknesses. Yours are probably just uncommonly small.”

Vetinari smiled. “Call them well-hidden,” he replied. “My greatest weakness is vanity.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I have carefully devised a suitable image of myself; now I like people to admire it.”

Angelina laughed. “Fair enough, I let you off with that. Your turn.”

Vetinari scanned the horizon. It was flat, featureless and very, very dull indeed.

“Why does a cheerful, warm-hearted young woman fall in love with a cynical old man?”

“Is that just a general question, or does it refer to anybody in particular?”

“You know exactly who I mean.”

“I’m not all that young myself.”

“Thirteen years are quite a difference. I note you don’t contest ‘cynical’. Answer the question, please.”

Angelina creased her nose in her typical frown. She tried to recall just exactly when and how her employer had started to take possession of her heart and mind.

“Do you remember that day I came to your office to complain about the Hershebean rubber manufacturers?”

“The memory is engraved in my mind for eternity.”

“Well, you were so detached and unmoved, as if it was all nothing to do with you, even though I had raged and shouted at you like some fish wife. And then, when I got all upset and started to cry because of Marigold and because of Penny, you came over to me and you just stood there.”

“I didn’t. I gave you a handkerchief.”

“Yes, and then you just stood. You didn’t seem embarrassed, but you also didn’t say anything or touch me or do any of the things people normally do when somebody is crying. You stood and you waited. At that moment, you had stopped being The Patrician, but you didn’t dare being Havelock either. You were standing on the threshold between two existences, not knowing which way to go, and I looked at you and saw you waver and I thought you were quite, quite wonderful.”

Vetinari rubbed his chin.

“Is that it? And to think that I flattered myself you were intrigued by my wit and impressed by my relentless devotion to my duties!”

“Oh, fear not, I came to appreciate your manifold qualities by and by. But people seldom fall in love with displays of perfection.”

“They don’t?”

“You didn’t, did you?”

“It’s not your turn yet.”

“It is so, I’ve answered the question.”

“It will be your turn when I say so.”

“Honestly, Havelock, you are impossible sometimes.”

“I hope so. It is your turn now, if you wish.”

Angelina grinned. She suspected that he had only staged this little quibble to buy himself time for thinking about the question he expected. It would be ever so entertaining to disappoint him.

“What was your favourite game when you were a child?” she asked and watched him surreptitiously. His mouth twitched, but only slightly.

“Playing hide and seek with Sybil Ramkin. That was always a special kind of challenge.”

“Was she so good at hiding?”

“She was so bad at it. The challenge was to think of subtle ways to pretend I hadn’t seen her. But I enjoyed it. We were always good friends.”

“Why didn’t you marry her?”

“Only one question at a time. Who do you love best among your siblings?”

“Can you not tell?”

“Not any more. I used to think it was a clear case for Cassandra, but after our encounter with Felix and your tearful farewell from him, I believe it might be a tie. And there is Henry, too.”

Angelina smiled.

“No, no. I am prone to hero worship, and my brothers know that and take advantage of it at times. But I’ve never told them my secrets.”

“Will you tell them to me?”

“Only one at a time.”

 

oOoOo

 

A carriage was hurtling along Quirm Street. It wasn’t actually meant to go at quite such a speed, but the traffic police were nowhere to be seen **4)** and nobody else felt called to stop it. The two horses thundered over the cobbles while people on both sides dived for safety, then picked themselves up quickly and followed the vehicle so as not to miss the show. Near the bottom of Quirm Street, the carriage raced past Commander Vimes, who was proceeding through the drizzle towards Pseudopolis Yard after a fruitless investigation into a murder in the Goose Gate.

When they arrived at the t-junction with Cheap Street, the horses’ deranged brains registered the reality of a stone façade speedily filling their vision. They veered to the left, but the carriage skidded on the wet cobbles and crashed into the building with all the distressing noises one expects to accompany such an event.

Even more distressing than the noises was the sight of the mangled carriage, smashed up in a jumble of splintered wood. Out of the wreckage rolled, undamaged, a single wheel, which trundled across to the side of the street and toppled over with a gentle thud. **5)** Attracted to disaster like wasps to a lemon meringue pie at a picnic, the crowd drew near to the stricken carriage. Just at this moment a lad came running up the street with his cap in his hand.

“Don’t worry!” he shouted, giving the citizens of Ankh-Morpork credit for more virtue than they had actually displayed. “There was nobody in there. They all jumped off in Quarry Lane.”

This did not dissuade the people, who started picking over the wreckage in the hope to find something of value. Two men kindly led away the horses. Vimes stood still and did nothing to stop them. He felt an eerie sensation creeping over him, as if he had neglected something that he should have long been aware of. He looked at the carriage. He looked at the lad, who had flopped down on a crate of Benson’s Finest Shoe Polish and was trying to catch his breath. In Vimes’ mind, images of the crash he had just witnessed and another one he had only observed on a flickering screen blended together into a new picture.

“Say that again, will you?”

The lad looked up. He seemed to have successfully apprehended his respiratory functions.

“They jumped off, sir. In Quarry Lane. The driver first, and then the passengers. The gentleman was fine. I think the lady must have broken something, because she screamed and screamed. I ran after the carriage, because I wanted to…”

But Vimes wasn’t listening to find out what the boys’ intention had been. He patted him on the shoulder, nodded farewell and walked off along Cheap Street.

“Vimes,” he muttered, “you are an idiot, what are you? They called it proof and you believed it. But better late than never. Now, where does Henry Winter live?”

 

 **4)** **They were, in fact, keeping a watchful eye on the River Ankh.** ****

**5)** **What did you expect?** ****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The notion that Vetinari used to play hide-and-seek with Sybil is based on eruthiel's wonderful story "Childhood Innocence", which can be found in my C2 "The Vetinari Files" on fanfiction net.


	15. You must be joking!

Henry Winter’s house in Dolly Sisters, meanwhile adorned with vases and knick-knacks and tasteful curtains **1)** , had been a silent witness to intimate female conversation all afternoon. Now Tvoolia and Goldy had moved from the parlour to the kitchen and were busy preparing the dinner.

“I am so glad you decided to stay,” said Tvoolia. She was grating cheese, taking care not to damage her pretty fingernails.

“So am I. I am not sure that I would still like it back in Copperhead,” said Goldy. “I know it’s home and all that, but there are certain things about Ankh-Morpork one just gets used to. And Lord Downey has dropped the dwarf tax, so I felt there wasn’t really any reason to leave any more.”

She didn’t mention that Lucky Haettenschweiler had given her a very _cordial_ invitation to her birthday party, which Goldy felt she couldn’t decline.

Tvoolia glanced into the pot. She prided herself on having the dinner ready whenever Henry came home. He’d said he’d be in at five. She gave the noodles a vigorous stir.

“This is almost finished. Have you got the time?”

“Yes, it’s here, I chopped it up with the parsley, sage and rosemary,” replied Goldy and handed her a bowl of herbs.

“I meant the - oh, never mind. Thank you. I’ll take some of these basil leaves, too. Henry likes Brindisian herbs in his sauce. He says they remind him of an old friend, but he doesn’t want to tell me about him.”

“Brindisians make some great desserts,” offered Goldy.

“I haven’t thought about the dessert yet. Did you bring some cake?”

“No,” said Goldy with a sigh. “I came past the shop, and I saw through the window that Mrs Bunns was just carrying in a tray of fresh figgins, and ... well, I just didn’t feel like going in.”

“That’s quite all right. We’ll just have a fruit salad then. There’s apples and plums and a nice ripe melon - “

They were interrupted by the door bell. Goldy went to open. The man outside seemed momentarily taken aback.

“Yes?” said Goldy.

“Good afternoon. Commander Vimes, city watch. Is Mr Winter at home?”

“No,” said Goldy.

A pause ensued. Let’s take advantage of it. Since Goldy’s perspective is no longer of any use to us from here onwards, we swiftly and smoothly change over to Commander Vimes’ point of view. **2)** He looked at the dwarf with a certain amount of consternation. Then recognition set in. Of course. This was one of Lady Vetinari’s bridesmaids. She was probably also a friend of Henry Winter’s wife. And like a true dwarf, she had answered his question accurately and had left the ping-pong ball of conversation pitifully tangled in the net.

“Well, Miss ... err .. Jansson?”

“Jorgensson,” said the dwarf evenly.

At this moment, a lithe, bronze-coloured and extremely pretty young woman came out into the hall. True to a cliché better suited to older and more rotund matrons, she was wiping her hands on a dish towel. She looked at Vimes and then at Goldy.

“Good afternoon, Mrs Winter. I am Commander Vimes, city watch, and I need your assistance. It is in connection with the disappearance of Lord and Lady Vetinari.”

He heard two sharp intakes of breath.

“What can I do, Sir Samuel?” asked the young woman.

“Would you have anything, any item that was in the possession of Lady Vetinari?”

Mrs Winter’s eyes narrowed. She pushed back a strand of hair with her slender hand.

“Well, yes,” she said slowly, “Henry retrieved her things after ... afterwards. They are upstairs in the spare room.”

“Would you care to bring me one of these things,” said Vimes, impatience fizzing through his body.

“Why?” said Mrs Winter, suspiciously.

Vimes gritted his teeth. There was no point in shouting at this ethereal girl with her big, almond-shaped eyes. Especially not since she had a dwarf with an axe standing beside her. He explained as briefly as he could his intention. The woman and the dwarf listened without interrupting him. Then Mrs Winter nodded and disappeared up the stair. Two minutes later she came back down again and handed Vimes an oblong object wrapped in a cloth. She told him what it was.

“Thank you, Mrs Winter,” said Vimes and turned towards the door.

“Not so hasty, Sir Samuel!” cried the dwarf. Vimes looked back.  Mrs Winter was putting on her coat.

“We are coming with you,” she said with a look that brooked no opposition.

When Henry came home fifteen minutes later, he was just in time to put out the fire in the kitchen. Tvoolia hadn’t even stopped to write him a note.

 **1)** **Tvoolia would have suffered a minor nervous breakdown had she ever seen the be Trobi fabrics.**

 **2)** **Who says I can’t do that? Watch me!**

 

oOoOo

 

Al Khali, city of a thousand camel droppings **3)**.In times of peace, like the present, the guards were more interested in their dice games than in the traffic through the gate and saw no reason to stop the rather outlandish looking couple that had arrived in the company of two Hershebean camel drivers.

Angelina had intended to dismount as soon as they reached the city, but she changed her mind when she saw the throng of people, camels, goats and donkeys that filled the Streets of Al Khali from wall to wall. Perched on Progeny of Fallen Angel, she was at least a couple of feet above the worst of the smell. Her elevated seat also afforded her a good view of her surroundings. The square buildings were very whitewashed, gleaming brightly in the sunshine at the top and getting increasingly grubby towards ground level. High walls surrounded little islands of greenery, while the dusty streets sprouted nothing but the occasional wilted palm.

Eventually the street opened up to a large square with a well in the centre and a collection of well-appointed houses around its edges. It was only then, with the sudden option of more than one direction to go, that Angelina noticed the absence of Vetinari, Crethi and Plethi. How she had lost them she did not know, but she was not, on the whole, surprised. Repeated experiences tend to lose their novelty value.

A group of women was assembled around the well. Angelina dismounted and walked over to them. The women whispered to each other and then one of them, a middle-aged lady of more than medium girth, stepped forward and addressed her in Klatchian.

“I’m sorry,” said Angelina. “I only know Morporkian.”

This caused a considerable amount of excitement among the women, which manifested itself in a wave of chatter. 

“Do you know the joke about the man who went into the tavern with the very small musician?” asked one.

“No,” said Angelina, mildly taken aback. “Do you know where the embassy of Ankh-Morpork is?”

“No, but I would say they should eat less pork rather than more,” replied another woman, and the others burst into laughter. Angelina frowned. She had asked a perfectly sensible question. These women were less than helpful. She would have to ask someone else.

“Keep up, Angelina, will you?”

Vetinari came striding up to the well, dragging Uncooperative Bottom behind him. The women stopped laughing and hid their faces behind their veils, but they had their eyes fixed on the tall dark man with the bright blue eyes. Angelina took Vetinari’s arm and smiled sweetly.

“Thanks you so much for your help, ladies,” she said. “I believe my husband knows the way.”

 

 **3)** **Per hundred inhabitants.**

 

 

oOoOo

 

 **Downey** **Dulci Duo**

 

 **Surprise was the first reaction of Ankh-Morpork’s citizens yesterday when Patrician Lord Downey announced his engagement to opera singer Dame Gina Dulci.**

 **The news emerged yesterday afternoon, when his lordship (51) informed the meeting of guild leaders of his forthcoming nuptials. In the course of the evening the couple confirmed their plans at a press conference.**

 **Dame Dulci, whose age cannot be given for legal reasons, has captivated the hearts of many music connoisseurs over the years, but her latest conquest is of a more personal nature. The couple first met at a soiree at Lady Selachii’s, where Dame Gina chided the Patrician good-humouredly about his reluctance to patronize the opera. Lord Downey has since been seen attending performances of “Lohenshark” and “Madam Moth”.**

 **“I knew Lord Downey from sight, but had never been introduced to him. As soon as I spoke to him, I knew it was fate,” explains Dame Gina. Lord Downey, who appeared to be suffering from a severe head cold, added: “Gina is the first woman I have cared about since my dear Lucinda died.” His lordship was widowed in the Year of the Malnourished Gnu and has since committed himself exclusively to the running of the Assassin’s Guild.**

 **Congratulations are flowing in fast from all over the city and beyond. The date for the wedding is set for the 1 st of Sektober, making this the second wedding of a city leader within just over a year, after former Patrician Lord Vetinari married one of his employees last Grune. The couple were later lost at sea and declared dead in Offle (The Times reported).**

 

 

oOoOo

 

“What is it, Dunster?” There was just a hint of impatience in Sir Toby Witherford’s voice. He had been on the point of convincing the prince that Ankh-Morpork’s investment in twelve new ships was not a threat to Klatchian interests, and the butler’s intrusion was most unwelcome. Dunster walked up to his master and said very quietly:

 

“A gentleman and a lady wish to see you, sir.  The gentleman was adamant that you would wish to see him, too.”

 

Sir Toby was about to make a harsh reply, when he noticed the expression of urgency on the butler’s features. Like all quality butlers, Dunster was not in the habit of showing emotions, and the fact that his face was practically melting with anxiety convinced the ambassador that the plea was best not ignored. He turned to his visitor.

 

“I beg your pardon - “

 

“Oh, don’t mind me,” said Prince Khufurah, who sat on an ottoman, flanked by two bodyguards. “Let them in, I am curious to see who it is.”

 

Sir Toby nodded to the butler, who scuttled out of the room. Before the ambassador had a chance to collect his thoughts, a man and woman were ushered into the room. Sir Toby scanned their appearance with vexation and wondered how Dunster could have possibly applied the terms “gentleman” and “lady” to these ragged figures. The woman wore men’s breeches and a shirt, both dusty and crumpled and way too large for her. A greasy dark braid fell down her back. The man was dressed in a khaki suit that had seen better days. His hair was too long, his beard untidy and his skin deeply tanned. Then Sir Toby met the stranger’s eyes and gulped.

 

“Lord Vetinari!” he whispered hoarsely. “But - but that is impossible!”

 

“It would appear not,” said Lord Vetinari. “I’m glad we found you at home, Sir Toby. I hope you will be of assistance to us. But I see you have a visitor.” He turned to the prince. “Prince Khufurah. What a coincidence to see you again. You know my wife, of course.”

 

The prince grinned broadly. "Ah, yes, I see that you have not yet had the opportunity to add to your little harem.”

 

Vetinari made no reply. Prince Khufurah raised his eyebrows and shook his head.

 

“Of course, I am forgetting. You are not a man with an expansionist outlook.”

 

He turned towards Angelina and smiled like a shark.

 

"Don't even think about it,” said Vetinari. "There aren't enough camels in Klatch."

 

Prince Khufurah laughed.

 

“Forgive me, my friend. Just my little joke. I will not importune the lady who is the apple of your eye. I am pleased to see that you didn’t fall over the edge of the world after all. Did you have an interesting time?”

 

”Very much so. It was truly a journey of discovery.”

 

“Ah, yes, I can imagine. And now, no doubt, you are keen to return to your city. How unfortunate that Lord Downey has recently become Patrician. Lord Rust would have been easier to remove from office.”

 

Vetinari’s face was blank. Prince Khufurah rose from his seat and smoothed down his robes.

 

“Well, I must be going. Much as I would like to stay and hear the tales of your travels, affairs of state call me. Goodbye, madam, I wish you a pleasant stay in Al Khali. May our paths cross again under a waxing moon. Your lordship, Sir Toby.”

 

The prince made a slight bow into the direction of the men and left with his guards.

 

Now they were alone, Sir Toby cast a nervous look at Lord Vetinari. His lordship had sat down at the desk and was reading the ambassador’s paperwork. He flicked through a few pages, then seized the pen and began to write comments into the margins.

 

“You need to keep an eye on these spice merchants, Sir Toby. If I am not mistaken, there is a great deal of smuggling going on. I don’t think we should tolerate that. Taxes and duties are there for a reason.”

 

Sir Toby inserted a finger between his neck and his collar, but received no comfort from this action. Lord Vetinari was clearly overstepping the boundaries, but Sir Toby didn’t feel up to challenging the man. Instead, he looked at the woman Vetinari had introduced as his wife. She had seated herself on the ottoman, sitting very upright, and returned his glance with a complaisant smile.

 

“And check your accounts, too,” continued Vetinari, “one of your clerks is cheating you. It is ... “ he squinted at the paper, “...yes, it is the one who is left-handed.”

 

Were any of his clerks left-handed? Yes, of course, Wigham! Now he came to think of it, he’d always felt there was something shifty about that fellow. But how could Vetinari tell? The man was uncanny.

 

“I will investigate that immediately, my lord.”

 

“Of course you will investigate it, but it can wait till tomorrow. Right now my wife and I would like a bath, dinner and a bed, in that order. And tomorrow morning you will provide us with the means to get back to Ankh-Morpork. I want fast, I want convenient, I want secret. Does anything spring to mind?”

 

“Well, I’ll do what I can, my lord, but - “

 

“Yes, Sir Toby?”

 

Lord Vetinari sat at the desk and leaned back in the ambassador’s chair. His chin was resting on his steepled fingers. He raised an eyebrow.

 

Sir Toby swallowed. A drop of sweat trickled down his brow. He felt like a wayward pupil in front of the head teacher. Then his sense of dignity called for attention. He _was_ the ambassador and he wouldn’t be ordered about like this, not even by Lord Vetinari.

 

“The thing is, my lord, with all due respect, you are no longer the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork. I do not think you are in a position to commandeer the resources of the embassy.”

 

“I commend your astute observation, Sir Toby. My wife and I are, however, citizens of Ankh-Morpork who have fallen into difficult circumstances in this country, and as such we are entitled to the assistance of the ambassador. I am positive I put something to that extent into your contract. Didn’t I?”

 

There was a pause during which Sir Toby calculated the chances that Vetinari would manage to return to Ankh-Morpork without his assistance and that he would get back into his office **4)** , and what the chances would be then, that he, Sir Toby, would be allowed to keep his post. Against this he weighed the likelihood that even with his help, Vetinari would fail to topple Downey and that Downey would find out that he, Sir Toby, had assisted Vetinari. He coughed. He rubbed his chin. He inspected his fingernails.

 

“I think I have just the thing you need, my lord,” he said with a sigh.

 

“Capital!” exclaimed Vetinari. “And now, Sir Toby, a bath, please!”

 **4)** **In both senses of the word.**

 


	16. The truth

With Goldy and Tvoolia in tow, Commander Vimes had marched into the High Energy Magic Building as if he owned the place. It was an old habit with him. He had found the premises almost deserted, because it was dinner time, but he had encountered one lone wizard who was feeding the mouse, and he hadn’t wasted any time on small talk. Tvoolia and Goldy had brushed the empty pizza cartons off a couple of chairs and were sitting daintily on the edges, while Vimes did the talking.

Adrian Turnipseed pulled a pristine handkerchief from his robe pocket and began to clean his spectacles.

“But we’ve been through all this before, Commander. We all saw them going over the Edge.”

“We saw _the boat_ going over the Edge, Mr Turnipseed. There was no evidence that the people were on it at the time.”

Another wizard entered the room. Vimes recognized him as Mr Stibbons, the genial but somewhat socially inept Head of Inadvisably Applied Magic.

“Oh,” said Ponder Stibbons. “Do we have visitors? It’s Commander Vimes, isn’t it? And who …” His voice trailed off. He blushed. His glasses began to cloud with a fine mist.

“Would you care to introduce me, Commander?” he whispered without taking his eyes off Tvoolia.

Vimes looked at the wizard and back at the young woman.  The youngest Mrs Winter perched on the chair like some exotic bird, with her big brown eyes shining and her glossy black hair framing the delicate oval of her face. She smiled sweetly, oblivious to the cataclysm she had just caused. With a sigh, Vimes indicated the dwarf.

“This is Miss Jorgensson,” he grunted, “and this is _Mrs_ Winter. She is the _wife_ of Lady Vetinari’s brother.”

“Delighted, I am sure,” muttered Stibbons and took off his glasses. Then he screwed up his eyes and put the glasses back on. His mouth opened, then closed, as did his hands, and all the while he stared at Tvoolia.

“Mr Stibbons? Hello?” Vimes waved a hand in front of the wizard’s face. Ponder Stibbons started and regained some degree of self-control.

“Yes. Yes, of course. How can I help you?”

“Commander Vimes wants us to do another search for the Vetinaris with the omniscope,” explained Adrian Turnipseed, who had been unruffled by the sight of Tvoolia. “He believes that it was only the boat that went over the Edge.”

“Sure, sure, if you wish, madam. Of course it was generally accepted that the couple were on the boat and - “

“Did you _see_ any people?” interrupted Vimes. “It was dark and the picture was blurred.”

“Well, I assumed they were sheltering under the robe – “

“Yes,” said Vimes with a grim turn of the voice. “But assumptions have no place in a police investigation. I want proof.”

“So you want us to do another search?” asked Ponder Stibbons, still looking at Tvoolia. Adrian Turnipseed excused himself and left the room.

“Yes. A discreet one.”

“If you wish, we can do it right now and nobody else will know about it. Discretion is my middle name, madam. Hex can do the necessary algorithms in about fifteen minutes. How do you propose to get a lock on the passengers, though?”

“With this.” Vimes  produced a rectangular green leather case. “We should have used something like this in the first place. We were after the people, not after the boat.”

“What is it?”

“Lady Vetinari’s flute. I understand she is rather attached to it.”

“It should work well then,” said Stibbons, who was slowly recovering his senses. “Hex will calculate a bipolar identification matrix, which we will feed into the thaumic oscillograph. Would you like to watch, madam?”

“I would like to see that omniscope thing,” said Tvoolia. “The rest isn’t particularly interesting to me.”

The door opened and Adrian Turnipseed wheeled in the omniscope. He began to attach various contraptions to it, but Stibbons pushed him aside.

“Go and start up the thaumic location program,” he hissed and, turning to Tvoolia, continued: “This is the omniscope, madam, a device at the cutting edge of technomancy. You will observe that the flux regulators are only half the size of the ones you find on conventional models, making this a much more flexible appliance. We are using a Liquid Quartz Display, which has several advantages over the outdated Cryptic Ray Tubes.”

“What a prat,” muttered Goldy.

They waited for quarter of an hour, while Adrian Turnipseed operated Hex and Ponder Stibbons fussed about the omniscope, all the while emanating a stream of technical jargon, which completely failed to impress Tvoolia. Eventually the big dark screen flickered and swam into focus. It showed Henry and Angelina side by side with a music stand in front of them.

“That’s two years ago, in February,” declared Adrian Turnipseed.

“Adjust the syncopic temporal stabilizer,” said Stibbons. The pictured wobbled, twinkled and cleared again. Two thin and tanned people in strange clothing appeared on the screen.

“That must be Lina!” cried Tvoolia. “What on the Disc is she doing?”

Against a vaguely bluish-white backdrop, Lord and Lady Vetinari were seen squatting on a rather splendid Klatchian rug, their hair and clothes flying in a strong wind. Vimes jumped up from his chair.

“When was that?”

Turnipseed consulted Hex.

“Ten minutes ago.”

There was a brief moment of absolute silence and then a crash. Goldy had hugged Tvoolia so hard that they had both fallen off their chairs.

 

oOoOo

 

Against a vaguely bluish-white backdrop, Lord and Lady Vetinari were squatting on a rather splendid Klatchian rug, their hair and clothes flying in a strong wind. A flock of fleecy clouds was drifting steadily hubwards over the Circle Sea, and the carpet perched on one of these clouds like an errant postage stamp on a ball of candy floss. **1)** It was cold and rather windy up here, but Vetinari had considered it crucial not to attract undue attention. He steered the carpet with seasoned equanimity. Angelina had initially been intimidated by this lofty form of transport, but had soon decided that she preferred it to both the fish and the camel. She sat snuggled against Vetinari and leaned over from time to time to peer down at the tiny specks of white that marked the crests of the waves.

 “You didn’t have to threaten the poor man,” she said after a while.

“I didn’t threaten him.”

  
“I’m sure you did, in some sneaky way or other. That was completely unnecessary, you know. We could have easily paid for a ship’s passage. Remember that I have the gold necklace that Felix gave me from the treasure hoard.”

“I am well aware of its existence,” replied Vetinari. “The curators at the Museum of Freelance Archaeology will consider it an asset to their collection.”

“But it’s mine!”

“I think the late Queen Halligalli might disagree with that notion. If you were willing to break it up to pay for a ship’s passage, then you might as well donate it to the museum. And Sir Toby can’t complain. We left him the camels. They’ll fetch a good price.”

“You mean somebody might _buy_ them? Voluntarily? I cannot believe that.”

“Oh well, different countries, different customs, as they say in Uberwald,” said Vetinari.

“Do they? I’ve never been to Uberwald.”

“That is unfortunate. I don’t think you can expect us to be travelling much in the foreseeable future.”

They flew on in silence for some time. The Circle Sea stretched out beneath them, a glittering expanse dotted with miniscule ships. The carpet was also, reflected Angelina, preferable to the boat, if for no other reason than the fact that Vetinari seemed able to make it go where they wanted to go.

“Wasn’t it lucky that the _Suleika_ arrived just this morning?” she asked.

“Very. I commend Mahmut for taking care of my papers. I would have been vexed indeed otherwise. One doesn’t like to see the fruit of one’s labours lost.”

“Yes, and I’m sure he was glad that you eventually returned our cabin key. I wouldn’t have minded getting my outfit from Queenston back, but that’s a man’s priorities for you.”

“Don’t fret about it. I didn’t like it much anyway.”

“Didn’t you? You never said. Oh, well. Is it very bad news about Lord Downey?”

Vetinari rubbed his beard.

“Yes and no,” he said. “Prince Khufurah is right in that it will be much harder to seize power from Downey than it would have been from Rust. But on the other hand I am fairly certain that Downey won’t have made such a mess of things. At least we don’t seem to be at war with anybody.”

“But there will still be a lot to do, won’t there?”

“Oh, yes, and the sooner I get started the better. Will you be glad to be back?”

“Well. Yes. Yes, of course. But - “

Vetinari said nothing. He continued to say nothing for several minutes, but Angelina remained silent.

“Will you tell me?” he asked eventually. She sighed.

“Oh, it all seems a bit pointless now, because I won’t see Papa again.”

A couple of tears made their way down her cheeks. Vetinari put an arm around her and was quiet while she cried. He didn’t feel called to say anything. Parents die. There was nothing he could do about that. It was preferable, he supposed, to the children dying first.

The sun was sinking when they discerned the faint outline of the coast below them. The Ankh estuary was easy to recognize, because it tinted the sea a muddy brown colour for miles around. Angelina bit her lip. Soon they could see the city of Ankh-Morpork lying on the plain like a week-old pizza **2)**. Vetinari brought the carpet down behind a grove of oak trees not far from the main road leading to the Traitors Gate. The leaves shone in the light green colour of spring. Angelina felt heavy and slightly clumsy to stand on firm ground again. About a mile away the city wall was visible in the evening sun. Vetinari rolled up the carpet and tucked it under his arm. He looked down at his clothes and then at Angelina.

“With any luck, nobody will recognize us,” he said. “Let’s go.

 **1)** **This may very well be the worst simile in the whole story.**

 **2)** **And this is the last simile, I promise.**

 

oOoOo

 

In the big house in Scoone Avenue, Sir Samuel and Lady Sybil were sitting by the fire. The dinner table had been cleared, the curtains were drawn and Young Sam lay asleep in his bed **.**  The house was quiet and the drawing room a scene of, for lack of a better word, domestic bliss. Sybil struggled with a half-knitted sock, while Vimes gave her an account of the day’s discovery.

“How clever of you to think of that,” said Sybil.

“I was an idiot not to think of it earlier. I should never have accepted the first session with the omniscope as evidence.”

“Oh, Sam, don’t be so hard on yourself. I cannot imagine that anybody else would have worked it out at all. Well, I’m very glad to know that Havelock is alive. Do you think he is coming back here?”

“Do you think it would be possible that Vetinari could have use of a magic carpet and _not_ be on his way back here?”

Sybil, now absorbed in the difficult task of turning the heel, made no reply. For some ten minutes, nothing was heard but the slow clicking of the needles and the lady’s mumbled counting. Eventually the deed was done and the wool was flowing through her fingers again without requiring much attention from the brain.

“I dare say they’ll be here soon. I hope you are pleased, Sam.”

“Why would I be?” grunted Vimes.

“Because you dislike him a bit less than the current Patrician?”

“Hm.” Vimes silently puffed his cigar. He had to admit that the prospect of seeing Vetinari back in charge did cheer him up. However, Vetinari back in the city was not equivalent to Vetinari back in office. Besides, that other point of contention remained.

“He’s still got that woman with him.”

Sybil shook her head.

“Sam, ‘that woman’ is his wife. I don’t think you would be too happy if people were referring to me as ‘that woman’, would you? Five.”

“Five what?”

“Just counting my rows, Sam. Anyway, I am looking forward to seeing Havelock again and to making friends with Angelina. They are likely to need some help when they arrive, and I think we should be as supportive as we can. As soon as they are here, we should invite them for dinner. I must ask Willikins to bring out the Sellini candlesticks. Are you listening, Sam?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Don’t use your henpecked voice, Sam, please.”

“No, dear.”

“Who knows, they might even be standing at the gate right now.”

“We’re not having them round tonight,” said Vimes. “I’ve had a rough week, and I want some quality time with my wife.”

“Oh, Sam, you are ever so sweet,” said Sybil and put the knitting aside.

 

oOoOo

 

 

So here they are, standing at the gate. The big doors are closed, because it is late. In a minute they will summon the guard and demand entry to the city, but for now they stand and look in wonder at the walls they have so desired to see again.

 

“We are back,” says Angelina.

 

“We’re back indeed,” says Vetinari and rubs his chin. “We are back, but what will we find, Angelina?”

 

Sounds drift over the walls. It is evening, but the city is still very much alive. The city doesn’t sleep or even take as much as a nap. The streets are busy with people on every imaginable kind of errant, grave or frivolous. But the life of the city is not only lived in the streets. Behind the doors of buildings great or small, splendid or dilapidated, the people of Ankh-Morpork love and hate, plan and hope, struggle and die.

 

In his private sitting room in the Patrician’s Palace, Lord Downey pours himself a glass of “nig” and looks out of the window. She worries him. He wonders how he will cope with her. She is so temperamental, so unpredictable, so capricious. There must be a way to tame her. Gina is a small concern in comparison, Gina he will manage somehow, but Morporkia gives him a headache.

 

In the bedroom of their modest apartment in Ettercap Street, Rufus and Elsie Drumknott stand side by side, unable to take their eyes off the tiny creature sleeping in the crib. They are tongue-tied, confused and utterly exhausted, but they are happier than they ever thought they could be. 

 

In a windowless cellar room in his house in Moon Pond Lane, Lord Rust inspects the extensive array of locks and bolts on the heavy oak door, until he is almost sure that no assassin will be able to get in. Then he stretches out on the camp bed and falls into a fitful sleep.

 

In the comfortable house in Dolly Sisters, Henry, Tvoolia and Goldy celebrate with twofold reason. Henry is fully confident that Lina will be home soon, just like he has said all along. Tvoolia chimes in with expressions of delight, and would Goldy consider being godmother?

 

In the front room of an upmarket tailor shop in Phedre Road, Maria Susanna Sanguini is assessing a selection of exquisite fabrics and rejects one as too flimsy, the next as too stiff and another as too vulgar. The proprietor is beginning to review his initial opinion that he is honoured to be making The Dress.

 

In their shared prison cell, Silver and Shafto try to decide for the umpteenth time, and with no more chance of success than the umpteen-minus-one times before, whose fault it all has been.

 

In the watch house in Pseudopolis Yard, Constantin Greenaway takes a deep breath and repeats after Captain Carrot: “I comma square bracket recruit’s name square bracket comma do solemnly swear by square bracket recruit’s deity of choice square bracket to uphold the Laws and Ordinances of ...”

 

In her drawing room full of crystal vases and priceless china ornaments, Lady Selachii contemplates with a significant degree of vexation the prospect of seeing yet another woman of inferior birth elevated to the highest position in the city.

 

In the Great Hall of Unseen University, the wizards partake of a dinner of no more than average proportions. The Dean, on swallowing the last cracker with taramasalata, chokes and coughs up an olive stone, which first attracts his scorn, then his interest, and is soon passed around the table for inspection. “Looks like a Flying Carpet to me,” booms Ridcully. “Can’t for the life of me think what that’s supposed to mean.”

 

“What will we find?” repeats Vetinari.

 

We leave our hero and heroine at the gate. No doubt they will pass through and face the challenges that await them within the walls of Ankh-Morpork. Of the many doors and gates that have opened and closed for them in the last few months, this may turn out to be the crucial one. They have travelled by sea, land and air and through deserts and abysses of the mind. They come armed with a tale that defies belief and with the truths they have learned about themselves and each other. They expect to encounter incidents of betrayal and of loyalty. Whether the city will welcome them, reject them, or shrug its metaphorical shoulders at them, remains to be seen.

The End

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The watch oath is a direct quote from Guards! Guards! Jane Austen is still occasionally quoted in this story, while Stevenson, Goethe, Homer and, um, Harry Belafonte are merely referenced.
> 
> There is a sequel to this story, called "The Return of the ???"


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